


not just human

by PrincezzShell101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Scott, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beta Derek, Derek and Stiles are Mates, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Imprinting, Knotting, Multi, Quileute Stiles, Scent Marking, Serious Injuries, Sexual Assault, Telepathic Bond, Temporary Character Death, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincezzShell101/pseuds/PrincezzShell101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is just human, that's all he has ever known himself to be. But that all changes when the vampire arrives in town, and along with it, a family secret that has been buried for far too long is discovered. Stiles isn't just human. Neither was his mother. With this secret, many new things come to light that Stiles would never have expected… maybe even a reveal of a powerful connection to one certain werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beacon Hills has been rather disturbingly quiet the past few months.

Beacon Hills has been rather disturbingly quiet the past few months. Stiles notices this just like how he notices everything else—with a loud mouth, plenty of wit, and a bit of sarcasm thrown in just to be Stiles.

"So like, really,  _anything_ could happen at  _any time_ , guys. And guess what? We won't be able to stop it because we're all sitting here playing Monopoly. Next thing we know, the whole of Beacon Hills has gone under siege by whatever big, nasty baddy that decides to come passin' through, and we're just gonna be fighting over who has the most play money while people outside are  _dying_!"

Isaac has the nerve to somehow turn this serious matter into a joke by snorting, Scott only a few seconds behind him. Allison bites her lip, but it doesn't matter because Stiles can see that she's trying not to join in, the smile slowly edging at the corners of her mouth just a damn plain give-away.

"Stiles, don't you think you're being a bit, I don't know, over-the-top?" Scott glances up from staring at his play money—all five hundred and sixty of it probably, the guy's good—to face Stiles with a look that shows  _just_ how funny he finds the situation. Damn it, Stiles should snatch that money off him and flush it down the toilet.

" _How_ am I being over-the-top?" He directs full eye contact with every single person sitting in front of him, huffing in annoyance when they instantly find their play money one of the most interesting things on the planet. "Oh, I see, let's just pretend Stiles doesn't exist. Fine. Keep on playing the stupid game. But don't come howlin' and crying to me when one of you lose to Lydia."

Lydia—the only person in the room who'd chosen to ignore the humorous effect his concern of Beacon Hills' safety had somehow generated—nods, a small twitch to her lips. "Stiles is right." She looks up, her green eyes piercing everyone with her _I am Lydia Martin_ stare. "I will win."

"See? Lydia says I'm right." Stiles picks up his play money from where he'd left it, counting each piece and grinning goofily.

Lydia clicks her tongue, bringing Stiles's eyes up from his play money to meet her amused smile. "Oh, honey, I meant about the game. Not the destruction of the town."

Stiles's grin morphs into a scowl as the room erupts into laughter. "Why did I ever think you were a nice person?"

Lydia pats his cheek. "Don't worry, you never did." She sneaks a peek at the play money he's holding in his hand. "Stiles only has one hundred dollars!"

Scott whoops a _yes!_ and Isaac's eyes light up. Allison giggles.

"Correction," Stiles groans. "Why did I ever  _like_ you?"

Lydia smirks. "You wouldn't be Stiles if you didn't?"

And, of course, this cracks up the entire room.

Stiles is just glad Lydia's a girl.

***

So, Stiles's theory on something bad happening? Yeah. Turns out that he really  _does_ know how to foretell shit before it happens.

"This is totally where I say 'I told you so', isn't it?" Stiles quips. Everyone in the room doesn't find the humour this time around, their faces doing very good imitations of Derek's _shut up, Stiles_ glare. "Or not…" Yeesh.

"We should call Derek," Isaac says, looking at Scott for confirmation. Speak of the devil.

Scott shakes his head, obviously not on-board with the idea. "Derek left for a reason."

"And what reason  _is_ that, Scott?" Isaac growls.

Stiles glances between Scott and Isaac, not understanding why Isaac is so confused.

"Isa—"

" _Why_  Scott? Did he tell you and not me? Huh!?"

Oh,  _wow_. Derek must not have let Isaac know anything before he left. Then again, he never really did tell  _anyone_. Apart from Scott, it seems…

Scott's trying to keep his cool without alpha-ing out, but it looks to be getting quite hard with Isaac flashing his amber eyes every time he yells. Stiles can see this and decides to pitch in.

"Isaac, man, c'mon. Derek wouldn't want us to be fighting right now. He'd want us to be figuring out a way to get this bloodsucking creep out of our town."

"Amen to that," Aiden chuckles. Ethan nods his own silent agreement with his twin.

Danny, hand entwined with Ethan's—he'd found out about werewolves a few weeks after Derek left, Ethan having a slight problem with 'keeping the wolf in the bag' during sexy times—inputs his own opinion. "Scott's right. I don't know much about all that's happened, but if I'm not mistaken, Derek sounds like he's been through a lot of shit."

Isaac frowns. "B—"

Danny holds his hand up, raising his eyebrows as a signal that he's not wanting to be interrupted. "And you're his beta. Well… were, I guess. You of all people should have an idea of what he's had to deal with." He smiles warmly, his damn sweet dimples showing. "I know you want him to come back. You were closest to him since he turned you first, right?"

Isaac nods, scowl thinning out into a pout as he scuffs his sneaker on the floor, eyes downcast. "Yeah," he murmurs softly. "I was." Everyone's quiet. Isaac looks up, sees the sympathy on their faces, and masks his emotions with a sneer. "But that's not the point. We need help with getting this vampire out of here. Derek can help.  _That's_ why I want him to come back. No other reason."

The werewolves in the room share glances with each other, all being able to hear the lie, the skip or blip in Isaac's heartbeat. Stiles can't hear heartbeats—werewolves and their stupid senses—but he can still tell that Isaac's lying by his tone. It's in the way he steels his emotions, buries them deep down in the hopes of nobody seeing them. He'd done it for years after his mother's death, working hard to make sure everyone believed he was all right, that he was  _fine_  when he actually wasn't. Isaac's not fooling him at all.

"O—kay, so we just call Derek?" He breaks the tense silence himself, since nobody else has attempted to and it's starting to get really, awkward really fast. Scott turns to him first, then Isaac, then Ethan and Aiden in succession.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Allison's the one to speak, having been quiet the entire time, standing in the corner of Stiles's room. Yep, his room is officially Werewolf Headquarters now. "I mean, if he left to get away from everything why would he come back just to get thrown back into it all over again?"

"She has a point." Aiden's eyes move over Allison up and down like he's studying her, even though it's only a thing he does when agreeing with something. (A few alpha traits just stick. And still creep Stiles the hell out.)

"She does," Scott notes, smiling at Allison with his _I'm so proud of you, I love you, I love you, I love you_ stare.  _Ugh_.

"Okay, so Allison's got a point, Derek's out some place in  _God_ knows where, and we're just standing here doing nothing while a vampire at  _any_ minute could decide to take a bite out of a few poor, helpless Beacon Hills citizens. Wonderful, guys. Just—so wonderful," he says, sarcastic by nature as always.

There's a growl. It sounds like Isaac. Oh, nope, it's Aiden.

"Stiles has also nicely made a good point." Lydia's gaze hovers over everyone in the room before landing on him in—approval. Wow. The amazing Lydia Martin just gave him the _I deem you at least a little bit worthy_ once-over stare. His life is starting to look up. Then again, his life would be even  _better_  if the vampire bit the dust (pun highly intended).

"He has," Scott agrees, smiling at Stiles too. But not as big or proud as he had with Allison. Fur butt.

"Then we should all decide on something," Ethan says.

"Yep, Ethan's spot-on."

Everyone turns to Stiles who's spinning around in his computer chair, though he comes to a stop, looking at each one of them as he speaks.

"Either we call Derek to come here and help, which is probably going to do nada since as far as we know he left with no intention of ever coming back," cue sneer at Scott from Isaac, " _or_ I knuckle under and get into some heavy research on these leeches so we can take it down on our own." He spreads his arms out in an openly wide gesture before leaning back in his chair, crossing both arms against his chest. "Two options. One fool-proof, one not. Let's get the votes rollin', shall we?" He grins.

***

In the end, after a very long debate, the votes are seven to one.

"I still think we should call Derek," Isaac says, leaning against the farthest wall in the room, away from the rest of the pack. He'd retreated to the back mid-vote, blue eyes foreshadowed in the darkness as he'd listened to the votes being counted and discussed.

"Isaac, we can't." Scott frowns and Stiles can tell his best friend is slowly starting to become annoyed, a literal few seconds away from losing his cool.

"Yes we  _can_. Just pick up the phone and  _call him_ , Scott," Isaac growls, yellow irises like a blink in the shadows as he flashes his eyes. 

Stiles groans. This is not going to end well.

"Look. Isaac, I get that you miss Derek. Okay? I get it. But calling him isn't going to help us. The best shot we got at getting rid of this thing is to follow Stiles's plan and let him do the research so we can take it down ourselves." Everyone nods at Scott's words in silent agreement with their alpha. 

Isaac doesn't budge. Well, he does in a way. By storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

"Whelp, that went well," Stiles mumbles, earning a glare from Scott.

Aiden snorts. "Yeah," he laughs. "That went  _terrifically_."

"Don't worry, Scott. You know he'll come around," Allison assures, laying a hand on Scott's shoulder. Lydia nods along with her. It seems to work as Scott's shoulders eventually lose their tension and his face relaxes into a neutral expression.

"Yeah, yeah you're right," he says, sighing. "Just—I hope he doesn't stay mad at me forever. We live in the same house, and I  _really_ don't want to wait to find out how long it takes Mum to figure that something's up."

Stiles chuckles despite his brain warning him not to. "Better not pull out the spare mattress then," he jokes.

Danny and Ethan look to each other, smirking, while Scott rolls his eyes. "I have a feeling I'm not gonna have a choice. Wait… unless I sleep in Mum's room." A thoughtful look crosses his face and Stiles has to snort.

"That'll just give it away, Scotty boy," he says. Scott pouts. "Hey, hey no pouting. You can sleep here tonight!"

Scott smiles, but politely shakes his head. "Thanks for the offer, man. But I'll just stay over Allison's. That's okay, right?" he asks, turning to Allison and begging her silently, making his doe brown eyes as puppy-like as he can.

Allison nods. "That should be fine," she says. Scott grins toothily and it is so sappy Stiles wants to throw up.

"Okay you two love puppies, go chase your tails all the way back to the Argents. The rest of you can all go on home. Stiles has work to do." He stands up and ushers them all out. Scott and Allison are the last ones out, and he pulls his best friend back to whisper in his ear. "Go get yourself some Allison kibble, dude."

Scott hits him on the way out but Stiles still counts it as a win when Allison gives him a thumbs-up behind her back when Scott's not looking. He returns it smugly.

Only a few seconds later he hears Scott and Allison leave out the front door. He looks around his room, sighing quietly as he starts clearing up the food that the pack had eaten, putting the rubbish into the small bin beside his desk. He's sitting down at his computer chair, about to start researching, when the niggling feeling at the back of his mind that's been bothering him all night won't stop pestering him.

After a few minutes of just sitting there, he eventually caves.

"Fuck it," he mutters, taking out his phone.

To  _ **Sourwolf**_

_Hey big guy, got a vampire problem here. Mind coming back to help out?_

It's when he's sent the first message that his better judgement decides to fail him.

The next text he types out he doesn't even think about, not even faltering for a second before hitting send.

To  _ **Sourwolf**_

_I miss you._

***

Stiles stays up all night researching. He comes across many websites that he has to quickly click out of before he has the urge to email the people who'd made it and complain about their poor information—very poor, like not even worthwhile reading—and how all of its just based on vampire TV shows and movies ( _The Lost Boys_ , really?) _._ He does come across some good websites though, a few that supplies information that he can consider valuable to their cause and actually write down. Information that isn't cheap-skated from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , but information that has at least  _some_ literal value.

When the sun rises the next morning, Stiles doesn't notice… Well, not until he opens his curtains and is blinded. Staring at a computer screen all night really  _does_ affect the retinas in a bad way, because right now his eyes are burning and in no universe is that a good thing. He manages to get past that, though—Stilinskis are survivors, after all—and take out his phone to message Scott of his success—because obviously, a whole night of screens is no match for Stiles Stilinski, refer back to 'Stilinskis are survivors'.

To ** _Scotty_**

_Got da info. Pck meet @ mine in 10._

He receives a reply only a few seconds later saying that the whole pack will be there soon, so he gets to work at organising some snacks for when they arrive.

Scott and Allison will want to share a packet of Skittles (same with Ethan and Danny but with Red Vines), Lydia will want a yoghurt, Isaac will want some Cheetos and Aiden will just want a Snickers bar (which seriously, Stiles doesn't even know  _why_. That guy is  _always_ at least a little bit pissed, and it has got nothing to do with the whole 'not yourself when you're hungry' thing that the ads on TV always say).

"Yo, Stiles!"

Stiles whips his head out from where he's been looking in the fridge for the can of Coke he'd left there a few days ago, raising an eyebrow when he finds Aiden and Ethan pushing and shoving each other to try and get inside first, Scott waving from the door with Allison on his arm.

"Hey," he says slowly, not sure why they're in such a rush to get in. What is this now, first come first served? "Something up?"

Scott grins sheepishly as he and Allison walk over. "They smelt food," he chuckles, like it's just that simple. His grin falls as quick as it appears, frown taking its place. "Also, uh, Isaac isn't here today. He…"

"Didn't want to come." Stiles finishes it for him, sighing and giving up at his search as he closes the fridge. His dad must've found it, the sneaky bastard. "Yeah, I kind of expected as much."

Scott nods, eyes tired. It's now Stiles notices that his best friend looks worse for wear. It's obvious he's had a rough night.

"Is he—is he okay?" he asks, awkwardly leaning against the fridge. "Guy's tail wasn't waggin' as much as it usually does last night." He snorts at his dog joke, though is relieved when it manages to put a slight smile on Scott's otherwise exhausted face.

Scott shrugs, the movement nothing but a half-attempted lift of the shoulder blades. "He wouldn't come out of my room last night. I had to sleep on the couch. Also, he refused to speak to me when I tried to apologise to him this morning."

Stiles smiles. Scott, ever the caring, puppy-eyed guy. It's so sweet, sometimes Stiles has to pinch himself  _hard_ to stop thinking absolutely mind-melting, adorable thoughts.

"Mum figured out something was wrong straight away, of course." Scott chuckles, a small, partially quiet sound. "I told her what happened and she said to just give him space."

"Space." Stiles sighs, long and loud. Jesus, people and their  _space_. "Sounds just about right." He turns to Allison. "Space sound all right to you? Or you think Scotty should try and talk him 'round?"

Allison smiles. "It's up to Scott, but I think Isaac will eventually come around on his own."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Scott agrees, nodding. He looks a lot happier than he was earlier. Which is good.

Stiles beams, clapping Scott on the back. "All right!" he says. "Let's get down to business!"

The three of them walk upstairs, the pack's sounds of laughter and chatter loud enough that it ricochets through Stiles's closed bedroom door and carries down the hallway. Stiles rolls his eyes, opening the door to meet the puke-inducing sight of Danny and Ethan making out on his bed, Lydia and Aiden doing the same thing on his computer chair. Lydia's sitting on Aiden's lap, basically  _straddling_ the guy.

It's like both couples stopped laughing and talking just to make out  _in hopes_ of pissing him off.

"Oh, gross, that's just—ew." He shudders, ignoring the snort at his left from Scott. "Guys, could you  _please_ stop turning my room into your own personal love nest?" he whines. Lydia stops kissing Aiden to address him with the literal stare of death.

"Oh, man up Stilinski," Aiden teases, trailing a line of kisses all the way down Lydia's throat. She hums in approval, tilting her neck to the side, still eyeing Stiles, but this time with half-lidded amusement.

Stiles groans. He gives up on that one and turns to Danny and Ethan, pleased that  _they_ at least get the memo of 'no kissing in Stiles's safe haven'.

"Okay," he says, nearly well enough shouts. It gets everyone's attention, and even though Aiden refuses to stop nibbling on Lydia's bottom lip, he still shows enough respect to look over at Stiles from the corner of his eye. "I researched last night, on vampires. So far, well, I can only say that this thing is gonna be tricky."

Scott's eyebrows pinch together as he frowns. "How? It's just a vampire, right? A stake to the heart, maybe some holy water. It doesn't sound so hard."

Stiles snorts. "Scotty, you're as bad as some of the websites I found last night. And let me tell you. Their information? Total. Shit."

"Well, uh, okay then. What do we do?" Everyone in the room nods at Scott's question, Aiden now having abandoned kissing Lydia to start staring, unblinkingly, straight at Stiles. Creepy.

Stiles goes over to his computer, picking up a notebook lying beside it, the one that he'd wrote all the information in last night. He turns to the first page and starts to read.

"Vampires, even though dead, still maintain some close physical resemblance to their human form, and are literally frozen in the state of how they were when they were turned. Their skin is a lot paler and their eye colour is more defined. Also, their physical beauty is heightened."

Aiden wolf whistles. "Lydia would be a total catch," he says smugly. Lydia hums happily.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but continues reading.

"In direct sunlight, vampires  _do not_ burn. Legends and myths may say they do, but for a fact they actually  _can_ survive in sunlight. They do not combust, nor explode, they simply… sparkle."

Everyone bursts out in laughter at that one. So does Stiles. Naturally. He'd been surprised when he'd read it too, but the website he'd got it from had been written by a real-life vampire researcher and the information had been truthful.

"Really?" Scott chuckles. "What the hell."

Stiles shrugs and continues to read.

"The teeth of a vampire appear the same as human teeth do, the only difference is that they are longer and more pointed than human canines. However, vampire canines are unbreakable, razor-sharp on their edges and strong enough to slice through any substance, even their own kind's skin, which is harder than granite, rendering their bodies nearly indestructible."

"Wow," Allison murmurs quietly.

"Yeah. The sparkling sounds kind of scary now," Scott jokes.

"Okay, okay. Quiet. I'm nearly done," Stiles says, snapping his fingers. " _Shush_."

Aiden sneers.

"A vampire's physical and mental abilities extend far from a normal human's. All vampires have the ability to run faster than humans, an excess of a hundred miles per hour. They are capable of lifting objects hundreds of times their own weight. Their senses are designed to be similarly boosted, giving vampires the ability to see, hear and smell things that are imperceptible to human senses. Their minds work many times faster than humans are capable of, and all vampires have perfect recall. Also, vampires  _never_ sleep."

Stiles flips the book shut. "That's all I got, sorry guys. I tried getting more but most websites were written for die-hard Buffy fans." He shrugs, sitting down on his bed. "So, what you think? Can we take it?"

Scott shakes his head. "We need more information. Like, how  _can_ we kill the thing? You said that their bodies are made of, what, granite? That's tough. We'd need a bulldozer or something."

Stiles chuckles. "A bulldozer doesn't sound all that good, their skin might break  _that_."

"That's impossible," Aiden snorts. Everyone turns to look at him. "A bulldozer would take it down. Trust me,  _nothing_ could withstand against a bulldozer."

"Oh,  _really_?"

Everyone freezes, eyes wide.

The voice is a low sneer, amused if anything.

When Stiles turns around he sees a man sat by his window, blonde hair shining in the sunlight like golden honey. His eyes are literally like the bluest ocean, azure and glittering, and his skin is shimmering like fucking  _diamonds_. There's an aromatic scent coming off him as well—sickly sweet, but so sweet it actually burns his nostrils.

"Holy  _shit_ ," someone mutters, but Stiles isn't paying attention.

There's this sensation in his chest, some sort of tingling. It's as if there's ants crawling inside him, biting into him. His skin is starting to feel hot, tiny stings that he just wants to itch and scratch but  _can't._  It's like his temperature's rising, higher and higher until it's unbearable, but somehow not. And for some reason he feels angry, blood boiling beneath his prickling skin. He's never felt like this before,  _ever_. It's as if he's gone crazy with rage, yet holding it down deep inside. But slowly, slowly the rage is eating at him, stronger and stronger as his skin burns like it's blistering, the temperature unreal. He soon realises he's shaking, tremors racking through his body in uncontrollable bursts.

Everything… is becoming too much.

The acidic smell of the vampire, the too hot temperate of his skin, the clench and shift of his muscles with every quake of his body…

He feels like he's going  _insane_.

The last thing he hears before everything goes fuzzy is the vampire crying out in surprise, a thunderous roar echoing around him.


	2. reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Stiles opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is that his skin isn't burning anymore. Everything's fine and he feels normal.
> 
> That's until he stands up and almost falls over his own feet.

When Stiles opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is that his skin isn't burning anymore. Everything's fine and he feels normal.

That's until he stands up and almost falls over his own feet.

He feels dizzy, like he's been on a roller coaster one too many times. Also, for some reason, everything in his room is suddenly smaller.

_**What fuck is going on with me?** _

He tries to take a step forward but it's as if he's learning how to walk all over again, feet going out from underneath him. He winces, closing his eyes and waiting for the floor to hit him hard.

But his body never meets the ground.

"Calm down. You're going to hurt yourself if you don't c _alm down_."

_**W-What the hell?** _

The voice is right next to him, like the person is holding him up. But all he feels is  _cold_. He blinks, opens his eyes and tries to speak, but all that comes out is a  _whine_.

Not human-like.

Dog-like.

 _Wolf-like_.

"Shh, it's all right. Just breathe. Calm down. You're okay, Stiles."

Stiles tries to speak again but all that comes out is another shallow whine, the cold pressing into him. He tries to shake it off but it clings to him, not leaving. He's starting to panic, twisting in the cold grasp and gasping out breaths, but they sound too wet and heaving.

" _Stiles_. Stop. Stiles!"

There's a face looming over him—dark hair, bright eyes. It's all he can make out as he tries to shake off whatever it is that's gripping him in its cold clutches. The thing still doesn't budge, clutching tighter and tighter until in his desperate struggle he opens his mouth and tries to scream… but it comes out as a  _howl_.

The cold's gone. It has just… disappeared. The face is gone too, and now all he can see is his ceiling as he stares up at the white paint and little glow-in-the-dark stars that stopped glowing years ago. He tries to sit up but finds that he can't, his paws sliding against the floor limply—

_**What.** _

Paws. He has  _paws_.

They're this sandy brown colour. His  _paws_.

_**No. No, this is too crazy. Stiles, too crazy even for you.** _

He howls again, this one drawn out and high-pitched, trying to stand up, but his paws just slip and slide against the wooden floor, sending his body slumping down to the ground again.

"Stiles,  _please_."

The voice is softer this time— _pleading_.

Stiles isn't aware that he's human again—not until he's fallen to his knees, eyes wide and staring at an equally surprised Derek, who's staring back at him from across the room.

"W-What—?" He can't even finish the sentence, too numb in shock from what he's just seen, let alone  _experienced_. He's shaking from head to toe, even though he's not cold…

Well, he  _is_ naked—

Naked.

He's  _naked_.

He's  _naked_ in front of  _Derek Hale_.

"Where—where the hell did all my clothes go?" he squeaks, moving his hands to cover his crotch. Not like it's going to do anything, Derek's already  _seen_ it.

"You shifted and, uh, your clothes ripped." It's Scott who answers (which,  _what the hell_ , when did he get here?), walking out from where he'd been standing beside the door.

"Oh." He settles for just that, worried he'll flip the shit out and ramble if he says anything more.

"You're not the only one freaking out. I am too, dude," Scott says, probably thinking he's helping.

Well, he's  _not_.

He'd turned into a wolf. A  _wolf_.

What the fuck?

"Of course he is," Derek snorts, walking over. Scott looks like he feels threatened, then must remember he's an alpha and Derek's a beta, standing tall and squaring his shoulders.

"He isn't even a werewolf. He never got bit," Scott growls. "And anyways, nothing happened until  _you_ showed up."

Hold up. When Derek got there?  _When, um, when_   _did_ Derek get there?

"Wait, what?"

"After you went all wolf, Derek came bursting through the bedroom door," Scott explains, still eyeing Derek angrily.

"And chased the thing off. You should be  _thanking_ me," Derek snaps. Scott looks like he's about to throw a punch or two, so Stiles stands up and steps between them.

"Hey, okay,  _enough_. I get that tensions are high because of what happened, but just—don't argue." Scott doesn't back off, letting out a low rumble that Derek returns, eyes flashing blue. "Oi, stop it! Scott, I text Derek last night. Okay? I  _asked_ him to come back."

This gets Scott to step down.

"What?" Scott frowns. "I thought you said we weren't going to call him."

"And I didn't. I text him instead," Stiles bites back sarcastically. Scott's eyebrows just pinch together. "Oh, c'mon, Scott. We weren't gonna be able to deal with the vampire on our own in the first place. I only said we could because the whole pack was there and I didn't want anyone, especially Aiden, wolfing out and ripping my throat out."

"Because that's my job," Derek adds, and he actually has the nerve to look  _smug_.

"You," he points, "don't. Don't you dare, Derek. You  _left_."

Derek now has the audacity to look guilty. Only a little bit. "I needed some space. To think. Clear my head," he says flatly.

"Wow, must be an alpha-to-beta thing huh?" He nudges Scott. Scott just rolls his eyes.

"What?" Derek asks, genuinely confused.

"Isaac's been pissy and needed some  _space_ ," Stiles mock whispers. "Thinkin' it's an alpha inherited thing now."

"I'm not an alpha anymore," Derek grumbles.

"Okay, okay. Yeesh. Don't get all sourwolf on me, man.  _Chill_." Stiles pats Derek's shoulder, then remembers he's still  _naked_ and removes his hand awfully fast. "Uh, can I get some clothes over here? Feeling  _very_ exposed right now."

Scott doesn't seem to move, shooting daggers at Derek like it will make the guy explode or something. It's actually Derek who walks over to his closet and gets him a pair of pants, handing them to him with the barest of nods.

"T-Thanks," he says, trying hard not to blush because seriously, when does Derek Hale hand you  _clothing_ when you're  _naked_? Also, when is anyone ever  _naked_ in front of Derek Hale?

Derek just nods again, then proceeds to shed off his jacket. "Here." He hands it out to Stiles. All Stiles can do is stumble while trying to get his right foot through the leg of his jeans, eyes wide at the black leather jacket Derek's holding out.

Thankfully, Derek steadies him.

"Wow, close call," he breathes, awkwardly doing up his fly. "Uh, thanks—again."

"No problem," Derek says, shrugging before giving up at holding out the jacket, chucking it at him so it hits him in the face instead. "Wear this."

"Um… why?" Stiles asks, confused but still slipping it on. It's a tad size bigger than he is, but it's still warm and comfy over his bare skin (also, it smells highly of  _Derek_. Which is not a bad smell at all, really).

"Why are you sharing scents with him?" Scott snarls.

What? Sharing scents? Whaa—

"He'll need it," Derek says smoothly.

"Why?" Scott demands.

Derek pits Scott with a glare that could scare off the mother of all monsters. "With the vampire in town, he's not safe. The one I chased off now already knows his scent. It has probably gone back to its place of hiding and is planning its next attack. It'll be back before you or any of your pack realises it's here. Stiles  _needs_ my scent."

Scott doesn't seem to be getting the gist of it, neither of how 'important' Derek sees the situation. Stiles can hear him growling lowly, and it's starting to look like he's going to pounce at Derek with teeth and claws.

"And what gives  _you_ the right to share scents with a human of  _my_  pack?" Scott sneers.

Derek full out  _laughs_ at that one, eyes flashing blue. "He's definitely  _not_ human."

Scott takes a step back at that, all anger gone, a startled expression on his face. "But—but he  _smells_ human."

Derek shakes his head. "Try again."

Scott frowns, takes a sniff of the air. "No… No, that—that can't be right." He sniffs closer to Stiles, eyebrows furrowing.

"Oi! Don't—don't  _sniff_  me like I'm another dog to you, dude!" he yelps, dog jokes be damned, flicking Scott on the forehead.

"Tell him what he smells like, Scott," Derek says, and dare Stiles say it but the guy sounds  _amused_.

Scott straightens up, wide red eyes staring at Stiles. "You smell like  _dog_ , man."

Stiles laughs hysterically. He doesn't really have any option  _not_ to. He smells like  _dog_ for fuck's sake.

"Stiles are, uh, are you okay?" Scott sounds worried but Stiles doesn't care,  _can't_ care.

Because he smells like dog.  _Dog_. The thing that goes  _woof-woof_ and chases its tail and pees on rugs and gets hit on the nose with newspaper and he  _smells like one_ and—

"Hey, hey. Stiles. Calm down."

Stiles feels a hand on his shoulder, reassuring, over the warm leather of the jacket he's wearing. When he looks up he meets Derek's eyes. They're looking at him calmly, probably trying to convey the message. He can't say it's working.

"You're not a dog, so get that crazy idea out of your head  _right now_ ," Derek says firmly. Stiles nods, swallowing. "You're a wolf. A werewolf. I think your mother might have been an ancestor of the Quileute tribe. You must have picked up her genes."

"My—mum?" Stiles chokes. No one's brought his mum up for ages, and when Derek mentions her all he can do is fight back the tears that are stinging his eyes.

"Yes." Derek nods, obviously sensing his distress, because he doesn't say anything more.

Stiles sighs shakily, wrapping his arms around his torso, hugging the material of the leather jacket closer to his body.

"Stiles…" Scott takes a step forward. Derek growls, a signal for  _back off and give him space_. " _Hey_!" he yells.

"Scott, please don't," Stiles mumbles quietly. Scott must see how upset he looks and stops growling at Derek, taking a step back again.

"I—I'm sorry," he says sadly, looking down at his shoes. "Do—do you want me and Derek to go?"

Derek's eyes narrow. "I'm not leaving."

"Well it's not your choice, it's Stiles's," Scott grouches. Derek's eyes flash and he snarls quietly.

"Derek can stay. I need to talk to him," Stiles says quickly, not wanting Derek and Scott to have another fight. All he wants is to know what the hell is going on, most preferably with his best friend  _not_ killing the guy who seems to know more about this than he does.

"Are you sure?" Scott asks, side-eyeing Derek cautiously. "I can make him leave if you want me to."

Derek bares his teeth, which are slowly starting to look a bit sharper than usual. "I'm not  _leaving_ ," he growls.

"I'm sure," Stiles says, nodding at Scott. "Don't worry, Scott. Just go home. I'll text you later, buddy. Okay?"

Scott hesitantly makes a move for the door, Stiles right behind him. "If he does anything you don't like, call me. I'll be right back here to kick his ass, I swear it," Scott jokingly whispers, yet Stiles can see in his best friend's eyes that he's being totally serious and means it.

"Yeah, sure," Stiles chuckles, noticing Scott staring at something behind him. He turns around to catch Derek scowling in their direction.

"Hey quit it, sourwolf! Your mouth will get stuck that way one day!"

Derek just scowls harder, eyebrows furrowing.

"Dude, that totally rhymed," Scott laughs.

"I know right!" he says, and when Scott's too distracted at laughing, shuts the door in his face. "See ya later!"

" _Hey_!Dude,  _not_ cool!"

Stiles cackles, holding his sides that are starting to ache from how hard he's laughing. "Oh, God, just too funny," he snorts, walking over to Derek and thumping his fist on the guy's shoulder. "Ya see that? True bro-man-ship, dude!"

"Clearly," Derek scoffs. His shoulders are tense, muscles bunched up tight under the material of his shirt as he makes himself comfortable on Stiles's bed, patting the spot beside him. "Sit," he says in a tone that means  _no discussion, just do what I say_.

Stiles is no position to argue, so he takes a seat, still slightly frazzled at everything.

Derek's back.

Vampire in town.

My  _mum_  was a wolf.

And now I am too. I smell like  _dog_ , of all things to smell like.

"Stiles."

Stiles doesn't flinch when Derek's composed, soft voice is suddenly  _right there_ , the man's hand placed over his knee in a firm, restraining grip.  _He doesn't_.

"You need to calm down. What I'm about to tell you—you're going to need to have clear, level head for this. You're young, only just shifted. Your control is limited. Any high emotions of stress, anger, anxiety, and you'll shift. You need to  _calm down_ ,  _Stiles_."

Stiles breathes slowly, in through his nose, out through his mouth, before nodding. "Okay. No—no high emotions. Calm."

Derek mirrors his nod and looks at him in understanding. "Good. Now, as you probably already noticed, Quileute wolves aren't like us—like me, Scott and the others. They originated from a different line of ancestors."

Stiles listens, letting Derek know he's taking it all in. When Derek's sure that he's got Stiles's full attention, he continues.

"Alpha werewolves can turn humans into their own with the bite, as you know. But, Quileute wolves don't work that way. Your kind only originates back to the original Quileute tribal leader and his family, the very first people of your kind. Your mother's family must be originated from that bloodline, otherwise you wouldn't have shifted today."

Stiles is confused. This is  _very confusing_.

"So, what you're saying is, my mum and her mother and maybe even  _her_ mother originate back to this tribal leader dude from… how long ago?"

Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No. No, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that yes, your mother is from that bloodline, but maybe not her mother. Her father could have been as well. Not only women carry the Quileute wolf in them."

"Because of what happened with me, right?" Stiles says, biting his lip. Derek nods. "So maybe my dad could have passed it on?"

Derek shakes his head. "No. Your dad's human. If he was a Quileute, I would have smelled it on him the second I met him."

Stiles frowns. "But wait, then doesn't that mean you knew about me? This  _whole time_?" He doesn't give Derek the time to answer, already starting to feel the anger rising.

"Stiles," Derek says slowly. "Calm down. You're going to shift if you don't contain your anger."

"C-C-Contain my—"

Stiles is  _fuming_.

Derek had  _no right_  to keep this information from him for the three whole years they've known each other. And neither does he have the right to tell him to  _calm down_  when he's angry. He's angry at  _him_ , for God's sake. And fuck everything to hell if he isn't going to  _be_ angry.

"Stiles! Calm  _down_!"

Stiles doesn't feel the slap to the face until  _after_ he's shifted. It stings, but not a lot. It's much like a quick, harmless jab of a needle. His anger is restrained, but barely. The slap just made it worse and harder to control.

If Derek thought slapping him would help him gain control, then nope, it ain't worked. Pain is a trigger to halt the shift, but apparently not for him.

"Stiles stop! Shift back! Shift back  _now_!"

Stiles is aware he's shaking, pretty sure his fur is bristling, and Derek's now flashing blue eyes at him, growling at him because—

Oh, yes.  _He's_ growling too…

Well, more like snarling.

_**What's going on? Why am I doing this?** _

He has no idea why he's growling at Derek. He's  _not_ a feral animal. He is  _not_. But the growling isn't stopping and the anger is coursing through him, hot like liquid-iron through his veins.

"STILES!STOP IT!"

The anger is, all a sudden, just gone. He's still a wolf, still got his sandy brown paws and everything else that comes with being a wolf, but he's  _him_ again. Mentally. He's in control again.

"Wow," he hears Derek mutter in relief. "Didn't think that'd work."

_**How the hell did you do that?** _

He's aware that everything he's saying isn't being heard clearly. To Derek it probably sounds like whines and growls.

"I can't understand  _a word_ you're saying," Derek says in amusement, lips twitching. "How about come back down to my size, huh?"

_**My size? Dude, what does that even mea—oh.** _

He is large. No, not  _fat_. He's… grown bigger. In height. And mass.  _Muscle mass_ , not weight mass. _Jeez_.

He tries to make himself shift but… but it doesn't work. He closes his eyes, concentrating on hi—

Ah. Yes. He's shifting, body morphing back to human as his bones crack.

Which surprisingly does not hurt.

Which is awesome.

What is  _not_  awesome, is that he's naked in front of Derek Hale. Again. Yay…

"Uhhhmmm," he mumbles, looking at the floor sheepishly where the ripped shreds of Derek's leather jacket and his jeans rest on the floor. "Oops. My bad." He quickly avoids Derek's eyes and glances around his room for any available piece of clothing. Maybe another pair of pants he left lying on the floor. Or at least  _something_ to cover up his manhood which is bare for a particular surly werewolf to see.

But no.

Nothing.

"Crap."

Stiles vouches that sooner or later he's gonna start leaving clothes lying around. Sure, yeah, his dad may yell at him ( _" _Stop being a messy teenager, Stiles. You have a closet. Use it please"__ _),_ but he'll take that risk if he can avoid going through his mortifying experience again.

"Could you, uh, just—turn around?" Derek doesn't bother to suppress his smirk, eyebrows raising in amusement. "Derek, man,  _please turn around_. I may be a wild animal now, but I'm not going to go around flashing my bits to every shifter like me out there."

Of course, that comment just results in Derek laughing his head off. Which, hello,  _abnormal much_? Seriously, since when does Derek laugh? Like, this wasn't even a small snort. No, no. This was a belly shaking laugh that, honestly, Stiles never thought the werewolf was  _capable_ of. Well… until now, he guesses.

"I'm just going to ignore the fact that you're actually  _laughing_ , like seriously,  _what even is that_ , and put on something decent." Derek hasn't stopped laughing. The guy's eyes are actually  _watering_. "Yeah. So. Bathroom. Riiiiight now." He runs to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him.

Except, one thing.

He forgot his clothes.

"Fuck."

He thumps his head against the door, closing his eyes.

Derek apparently has the decency to start acting  _normal_ again, because next second there's a knock on the bathroom door before it's opening and Derek's standing there, holding out fresh clothes for him. "Here." His lips are twitching, though, and it's really disconcerting when he's holding a pair of Stiles's  _underwear_.

Stiles takes the clothes, eyeing the werewolf carefully. "You better not have touched anything," he warns, pointing a finger at Derek's chest. "Just because you insist on the 'scent sharing'  _does not_  mean you get to start sniffing my clothes and rubbing them all over yourself. Because  _ew_ , boundaries!"

Derek's smirk drops, mouth thinning out in a tight-lipped scowl. "Put on your clothes," he says flatly.

And then he's closing the door in Stiles's face.

Stiles rolls his eyes, takes a minute to listen for the footstep retreating back to his bedroom, and when he's satisfied Derek's gone, starts pulling on his jeans and shirt, though leaves the boxers clenched in his hand. Hesitantly, he brings them up to his nose and takes a sniff. His nose scrunches up when he catches the familiar scent of pine needles, leather and musky cologne.

"That  _fucker_."

Derek's lying on his bed, though sits up when he storms into the room, eyebrows raised. "What is it?" he asks, like he doesn't already  _know_ what Stiles is riled up about.

"Oh ha ha, very  _funny_ ," he spits, throwing the boxers at Derek, who catches them with one hand and just stares at them blankly, just before looking back up at him and  _glaring_. "You  _know_ what I'm talking about, so don't try and glare at me like you don't.  _What the hell_?"

Derek just shrugs. "I told you, you need to smell like me. I didn't say how much."

Stiles grits his teeth. "Not  _this_ much," he strains. "You are  _not_ rubbing your scent on my boxers. That is  _too_ much, okay!?"

"The more you smell like me, the better," Derek states, throwing the boxers back at him. "Put them on."

Stiles scowls. " _No_ ," he says defiantly.

"Put them  _on_ , Stiles," Derek growls.

Stiles flips him off.

Yeah. He  _really_ shouldn't have done that.

Before even he has time to lash out with another snide remark he's being pulled down onto his bed. He yelps, arms flailing as he tries to pull away, but Derek grips them and tightly, restricts their movement by forcing them up above his head.

Great. He's being  _wolf_ _-_ handled.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snaps.

Derek's hovering over him, nostrils flared, close enough that he can practically taste the smell of Derek's breath. Mint. Since when does the werewolf even  _brush his teeth_?

"If you're not going to put them on, then I'm going to have to scent you some other way," Derek murmurs, and Stiles has  _no idea_ why his dick just twitched. He  _doesn't_.

"Uhm, not sure what you're  _implying_ but, uh…" His mouth just kind of gets away from him, Derek's lips kissing over the bob of his Adam's apple enough to cause him to lose all brain capacity.

Derek's breath is warm as it puffs over his skin, lips a press that is surprisingly gentle against the column of his throat. He can hear his own heartbeat thudding in his chest, squirms and breathes out a moan when Derek's lips latch on to his collar bone.

"D-Der—ek," he gasps, lets his eyes slide shut, head falling back onto the mattress. Derek's breathing as heavily as he is, nipping, kissing and sucking marks over his skin. There's something pressing into his abdomen, something hard and—oh my God, that's Derek's dick.

Derek is hard for him.  _Him_.

"Gonna mark you for them all to see. You're  _min_ _e_ ," Derek growls, and oh would you look at that. Twin hard-ons!

Derek's hands are holding tightly onto his hips, thumbs barely brushing over the sliver of skin above the line of his jeans. He tries to buck his hips up and get some friction but Derek forces them down, biting into the juncture of his shoulder, teeth sharp enough that they end up breaking the skin.

" _S-Shit_!" he shouts, eyes rolling back behind his closed eyelids.

Just like that. One little bite and he's come in his pants.

He feels blood drip from the bite mark, then the wet glide of a tongue as it laps it up. He manages to open his eyes, sees Derek licking the blood off of his skin, electric blue irises eyeing him as the werewolf's tongue darts out again, over his shoulder blade, as it follows another tiny river of blood.

"Fuck, that's hot," he hums, smiling lazily. Derek ignores him in favour of laving over the bite mark, sucking over the wound.

 _Drinking his blood_.

Yep. This is officially too hot for him to handle.

A few more minutes later Derek stops and looks up, eyes still glowing. There's blood on his chin, the red smeared across his stubble. Stiles swallows, fighting down the urge to lick it off of Derek's face.

"Your turn."

 _What_.

Stiles blinks. "Uh… huh?" he asks. Derek just rests their foreheads together before tilting his head to the side, baring his thr— " _Oh_."

"Your turn," Derek repeats, quieter this time. Stiles has a feeling that he hasn't ever bared his throat to anyone but family and pack before, if the way his voice wavers is anything to go by. "Go on," Derek says, louder this time, when Stiles doesn't make a move.

"A-Are you sure?" Stiles hedges, very unsure about this himself. He knows that for a wolf to bare its throat, it's a sign of submission. Derek's submitting to him, baring his throat and  _submitting_.

"I am." Derek's voice is soft, but this time it's confident, like he's sure that he wants to do this. "It's okay, Stiles. Do it."

Stiles still isn't sure, but if Derek's okay with it…

When his lips ghost over Derek's throat, Derek shudders. Stiles presses an open-mouthed kiss to Derek's Adam's apple, feels as it bobs minutely. Derek shudders again, sighing out shakily.

"Stiles," he breathes. "C'mon."

It's the way Derek says it, how it's so  _pleading_ , that pulls at something inside of him.

Stiles is aware of the juicy flow of blood on his tongue, how it slides down his throat when he swallows. Derek's gasping under him, short little breaths as his whole body trembles. There's the smell of something salty against the rich scent of blood, and Stiles looks into Derek's eyes, sees how they're glazed, slightly damp with tears.

Derek  _came_. He bit Derek and made him  _come_.

They lie there for a few seconds, catching their breaths. Derek's eyes are closed, mouth parted, and it's too tempting for Stiles to resist. He presses his mouth to the werewolf's, running his tongue across Derek's bottom lip. Derek exhales unsteadily, then slowly opens. Stiles licks into his mouth, feels as Derek moans softly, lips moving over his own as their tongues tangle together wetly.

The kiss lasts several minutes and by the time they pull apart, Stiles has to catch his breath all over again. Derek's smiling, looking at him with bright hazel eyes, and it's the prettiest thing Stiles has ever seen.

"Hi," he whispers, can't help the small giggle that comes after.

"Hey," Derek chuckles. His arms are lying by his side but Stiles feels one hand moving toward his own, beams when Derek clasps their hands together and squeezes.

"I think we should get up, it's getting kind of sticky," he says after a few minutes of staring into Derek's eyes.

Derek nods, squeezing his hand one more time as they both sit up. Stiles gets up first, heading to the bathroom to go change. When he walks back into the room Derek's standing by his window, looking outside. He turns when he hears Stiles come in, lips twitching when Stiles hands him a pair of jeans.

"These are your dad's," he muses.

Stiles grins. "Oh, so you're saying you  _want_ to wear my 'no fit' jeans?"

Derek snorts, taking the jeans. "Thanks," he says, unbuttons the jeans he has on. When they're off, Stiles blushes.

The wet stain on Derek's boxer is  _really_ noticeable.

"Uh, maybe I should get you some…"

Derek shakes his head, and it might be the trick of the light but is he  _blushing_? "Nah, it's all right." He slips the boxers off, pulling on the jeans Stiles gave him.

Stiles doesn't look when Derek strips, he  _doesn't_.

"Okay, so you're just going go…" He coughs, feeling his own cheeks heat up. "You go commando often?"

Derek looks at him with an eyebrow raised. "No," he says slowly, and Stiles bites his lip.  _Shouldn't have asked that question, Stilinski._

"Right. Sorry." He turns around, fists clenched. The hand on his shoulder makes him jump and turn back around.

Derek's smirking. "Didn't know you liked that kind of thing," he teases.

"I don't." It comes out too quick and he winces.

"Don't worry, I won't hold it against you," Derek chuckles.

"Yeah?" he says weakly, smile a little strained. Derek nods, looking clearly amused at how embarrassed he is. "That's… great. Yeah."

Derek just laughs quietly, pulling him into a hug. "You should get to bed, it's nearly midnight."

Stiles is about to nod, when time abruptly catches up with him.  _Midnight_ _?_  But… it'd been morning only a couple of—

"You were unconscious for several hours. Nine, to be exact." He can't see Derek's face, but he can feel as the man's smile is hidden against his neck.

"Oh," he breathes. "Oh, uh, o-okay. Sure. Are you—are you staying?"

Derek's arms tighten around him, the man's words muffled but still heard.

"Of course I'm staying," and then a few seconds later, "I missed you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has given kudos, comments and bookmarked this story. I hope you liked this chapter. Some Stereky goodness for ya ;) (As you can see I'm not a real big fan of slow burn).
> 
> Next chapter will be up as usual, in a week!


	3. imprinted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Stiles wakes up, it's to a warm body pressed up next to his and someone snuffling quietly into his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Sexual Assault tag makes itself known in this chapter!

When Stiles wakes up, it's to a warm body pressed right up next to his and someone snuffling quietly into his ear. He opens his eyes to see Derek's arms draped across his chest, fingers curled lightly over his hip bones, looks up and smiles as he watches the way the werewolf's mouth moves and nose twitches as he breathes.

"Hey, sourwolf, time to wakey-wakey," he whispers, has to bite down on his lip to stop the  _gonna die sooo cute oh my God_ from escaping when Derek stifles a half-yawn, eyes blinking awake with tiny little flutter-flutters.

"M'wake," he murmurs drowsily and like every person does in the early hours of the morning, doesn't bother with the attempt to speak, just slurs, "Sleep 'ell?"

Stiles nods, thinking about last night with a loose, lazy smile. "Yeah. Did you?"

Derek's lips twitch, mimicking the lazy smile in a way that's so darn adorable. "Mmm, better than I usually do." And then he's leaning forward, brushing their lips together, the fingers on Stiles's hips reeling him in further so he can wrap his arms around him fully, sliding a thigh between their bodies.

"A morning sex person, I like it," he giggles, hips stuttering forward when Derek's knee grinds up against the bulge in his jeans.

"Not a morning  _anything_  person," Derek grumbles, but Stiles can see the curve of his lips and how they're twitching on a half-smile.

"No, really, I mean it." He moans softly, rolling his hips against the firmness of Derek's thigh, hands scrunched up in the material of Derek's shirt as he rides the throes of pleasure. "You've got really good morning sex perception."

"Morning sex perception?" Derek snorts, rubbing his knee in faster circles over Stiles's jean-clad cock.

"Y-Yeah, morning s-sex per-perception, y'know?" Stiles breathes. The hot, unyielding pressure in his stomach burns fiercely, hips starting to lose their rhythm, simply just rutting frenziedly. Call that being a teenager. "D-Derek,  _oh_ ," he whines.

"You're going to come," Derek whispers evidently, and Stiles barely has the voice to whimper _ah,_   _ahhh_ _,_   _coming_ before his whole body snaps tight like a rubber band, toes curling, panting and mewling his release.

***

"So, hey, I got a question?" Stiles murmurs. He's sprawled out on the bed, limbs limp and sated, Derek resting quietly beside him after having one of the most brain-exploding blow jobs he's ever experienced (Derek's words,  _honest_ ).

"What is it?" Derek asks, twisting his head to the side to eye Stiles with amused curiosity. "Is it about me and my 'morning sex perception'?" He arches an eyebrow, smirking.

Stiles gawks, eyes narrowing. "No, no it is not," he says pointedly, jabbing his finger at Derek's nose. "It's actually an important, legitimate question that I honestly need to know the answer to."

"Okay." Derek rubs his nose, wrinkles it while pouting. "What is it?"

"When I was a wolf, uh, for the first time? Y'know, when you were holding me? Yeah, well, you were… cold. Like your arms were, I don't know,  _icy_ on my ski—fur and, just… It wasn't pleasant. Felt like I was trapped in between two twin glaciers in the middle of winter."

Derek stares at him blankly, the unspoken question of  _what the hell are you talking about?_ written all over his face.

Stiles sighs, closing his eyes.

"Don't look at me like I'm crazy. I know it  _sounds_ absolutely stupid but, yeah, it's a thing I experienced. Not long ago, actually. And I'd  _really_ appreciate it if you could help get me to actually believe that everything I'm saying, I'm  _saying_. 'Cause this could be a  _dream_ for all I know. I mean, you're  _back_  after _how_ long? Three  _months_ , or was it longer? Ugh, I don't even  _know_ , just… just you're  _back_ and you're the same as how you left, same expect for the grouchy interior—wait, no, it's still there, just mellowed down a bit like wherever you left us for gave you some kind of epiphany and you're a  _balanced_ guy… werewolf, yeah, balanced werewolf."

Derek rolls his eyes, opens his mouth, about to speak, but Stiles starts rambling on again before he can say anything.

"And then… then there's the problem with me. I'm a wolf. A werewolf. Quileute?  _Whatever_. Anyway, I'm a being of the  _supernatural_  and I can turn into a freakin'  _wolf_. A big, furry dog that's as big as a  _horse_ , even. This—this is just  _insane_. I'm not sure this is real. I—I could be asleep. Dreaming." Stiles shakes his head dazedly. "Yep, that's it. I'm totally dreaming this. Wake up Stiles, you're dreaming. You're not a lupine creature of the night, you're a completely normal, human guy that goes to Beacon Hills High and used to have a crush on Lydia Martin. Derek's not here with you, he's probably with Cora in New York building a new life for himself and scaring people in the big city. He didn't kiss you, didn't give you one of the best orgasms in your life last night. He didn't bite you, and you're not  _his_  even though you really want to be. This isn't  _real_! It's not real! WAKE UP!"

Derek grabs Stiles's arm, grips it tight, and digs his nails into the skin of the boy's forearm. "Stiles, this is not a dream. This  _is_ real. Snap out of it, c'mon!"

Stiles's eyes flicker open, pupils wide when he sees Derek's unimpressed face glaring at him. "Oh," he breathes. "Ah, yeah. Definitely real then," he chuckles, reaching his hand out and patting Derek's cheek. "Only real Derek would scowl at me like that after a bout of my horrible rambling. No dream. This is happening."

Derek groans in anguish, turning his head away. "That's it. Only you can make me regret coming back. Only you," he mutters.

Stiles scoffs. "You  _so_ wanted to come back. You love me."

"I do," Derek replies softly, smiling despite the annoyance.

Stiles grins, snuggling into Derek's body and pressing his nose into the stretch of skin behind Derek's ear. "I love you too. Y'know, have for a while. Since we met, actually. I felt a connection, like I  _knew_ you before I even got to know you. Crazy, huh? I saw you in the woods that day and just… you were it. Lydia Martin wasn't the  _one_ anymore. You were."

Derek freezes.

Stiles freezes at the exact same moment, moving back to look in Derek's wide, shocked eyes.

"W-What?" he blurts.

Derek shakes his head, draws a short, quiet breath of air through his nose. "It's… When we first saw each other?  _Then_?"

Stiles nods slowly. "Yeah, I mean, it was  _weird_." He snorts, bites his lip to stifle a laugh. "I'd loved Lydia Martin since the third grade, like completely and utterly stunned by her smartness and her beauty and her  _everything_. And then next thing I know,  _you_ pop up and I'm like, all over the idea of writing sonnets about the way you strut about in your tight-ass jeans and snug leather jacket that hugs your shoulders like a—" He stops, trips over his words, blushing. "Yeah,  _ahem_ … sonnets."

Derek doesn't laugh at his fluster. In fact, the werewolf's eyes are wide in disbelief, body tense, rigid beside him. "You," he says, voice soft and choked. "You  _imprinted_  on me?"

Stiles frowns, eyebrows pulling down in confusion. "What?  _Imprint_? Uh, no, I don't think I know what… that means?" he utters weakly. Derek's shock is kind of increasing, the high arch of his eyebrow and parted lips scaring the ever-loving shit out of Stiles right now.

Derek shakes his head, the noise leaving his throat small and shaky.

And then his eyes are flashing blue and he's pulling Stiles down, crashing their lips together hard enough the resounding _clack!_  of their teeth echoes in Stiles's skull.

Stiles gasps wetly against the werewolf's mouth, holding onto the man's broad shoulders and grasping tightly. Derek's hands stroke along his back, down his spine and back up again as he keeps kissing him in sharp, rough bites of his mouth, and it's driving Stiles crazy.

Or maybe, it's the stingingly-sweet odour that's burning his nostrils.

"D—Derek, s-s-stop," he whines against the other's mouth. Derek instantly pulls back at his displeasure, confused eyes searching for the reason why.

"What's the matter?" he asks softly, and Stiles smells the worry rolling off him in waves of discontentment, a vinegary off-putting scent.

"No—Nothing," he manages, breathing heavily. The scent is too sweet and it's infiltrating his senses, vicious in its onslaught on his nostrils. He can barely breathe, the thick aroma inhaled very time he tries to suck in air.

Derek's head snaps up then, growl rumbling in his chest. "Someone's here."

"You—" Stiles coughs. "You can smell it t-too?"

Derek's nostrils flare, eyes flashing. "Yeah, it's— _fuck_ , it's sweet," he chokes, pinching his nose.

"Does it—does it sting?" Stiles asks, squeezing his fingers over his nose as well—not that it helps.

"No, but it's strong," Derek says, coughing a little. "What, does it—does it sting for you?" His eyes widen slightly in concern.

Stiles nods, wincing. "Yep, like someone's taken a lighter to my nostrils." He curses when he speaks, breathing in the syrupy stench.

Derek makes a move to get out of bed, but Stiles grabs his arm. "Stiles, let me go see what it is," he growls.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "No way. Vampire, Derek. I wouldn't—"

"That's what they smell like?"

"Yep. What, you didn't smell it before when I wolfed out yesterday?"

Derek frowns. "I—"

Stiles jumps, startled, when the window bursts open, shards of glass flying everywhere. Derek immediately pins him down and covers his body with his own, and Stiles watches, eyes wide, as a splinter of it slices his shoulder, cutting through bone and muscle.

" _Shit_ , oh—oh my God," he says, voice strangled when Derek squeezes his eyes shut, face screwing up in pain.

"It's okay. I—I'm fine," Derek gasps, opens his eyes—they're hazel again, tears glimmering in them.

"No, no you're not, Derek," Stiles says, fingers grazing the splinter of glass, hand trembling as he rears back when Derek sobs out a soft cry. "You—we gotta get it out. It—it can't  _stay_ in there, Derek. Your skin will heal around it."

"I  _know_ ," Derek grits out, breathing heavily. There's a gleam of sweat perspiring on his forehead. "Can't. Not—not until I know you're—safe."

Stiles has the urge to hit Derek. The guy is basically  _bleeding to death_ with a huge shard of glass pierced straight through his shoulder, yet he still wants to make sure  _he's_ safe?

"No, fuck that," he growls. "I—I'm not—I'm not letting you  _die_ protecting me. You're  _hurt_ , and I can look after myself now. Okay?"

Derek's jaw clenches in pain and discomfort as he tries to manoeuvre his body to rest his back against the pillows. "Fine. What's your big plan then, huh?"

"Wow, uh, Derek, look who's bleeding to death here. Do you see him? Oh, yeah, no, you don't. Because it's  _you_ ," Stiles snaps. Derek huffs, hissing softly, and Stiles sighs. "I don't know, the plan? Well, I was actually going to go get a wet towel and bandages so I can remove that shard of glass from your shoulder, big guy. What did you  _think_ the plan was?"

"And you're going to do  _all that_ when there's still a  _vampire_ outside your window."

"Great," Stiles mutters. He turns his head and yeah, the vampire's perched on the sill, grinning widely. "You know, right now isn't the best time for you to be giving me sass. I have a mouth full of huge fangs now, and oh did I mention I can turn into the size of your worst nightmare?"

Derek snorts lightly and Stiles bites his lips in order not to smirk and say something more chipper.  _Be serious, Stilinski. Vampire in attacking distance. Threat needs to be nullified before any sarcasm._

"All right, I'm only going to say this once," he demands slowly, carefully rising off of the bed. "Get. Out. Of. My. Town."

" _Your_ town?" the vampire scoffs, chuckling. "Wow, I'm sorry, but who do you think I am?"

Stiles grits his teeth, nerves jumping underneath his skin, senses alight with the sweet nectar pungency that the vampire is giving off. "Look, I'm not going to repeat myself, man. I want you out.  _Now_."

"No can do, kid."

"Get the fuck out right fucking  _now_!"

The vampire's smirk drops, blue eyes changing like the dark grey sky of a storm. "You swear at me?" it says lowly, lips pulling back to reveal sharp, pointed fangs that glisten in the sunlight.

Stiles isn't fazed. "Yeah, buddy, I do," he snipes, standing dead still, eyes hard and impassive. "And I'll do it again. Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My. Town."

Derek inhales sharply, and Stiles can feel the shift in the air just as well. The vampire is readying to pounce, knees bent and shoulders hunched.

"Stiles," Derek warns, voice hoarse.

"I know," he replies calmly. "Derek, I know."

The vampire, clearly angered that his victim is not shaking in fear like it should be, leaps off of the sill, landing on the floor of the bedroom, knelt to the ground with a snarl, fangs bared.

"Surrender now,  _wolf_ , and I'll let your puppy friend go without any harm," it threatens.

"He already  _is_ harmed, you asshole," Stiles growls, nostrils burning with how close the vampire is, muscles tensing under his skin.

"Well, less harmed than he already is." The smirk on the vampire's face is deadly, a cruel curve of fangs and lips.

Stiles snaps.

The shift this time is quicker, the wolf bursting forth out of his body, clothes ripping and tearing. The vampire's eyes widen slightly and Stiles can smell, amongst the honeysuckle sweetness, a strong lemony tang of fear. But as soon as the scent hits the air, it wafts away just as sudden.

"Oh, well would you look at that. Bravo." The vampire stands, clapping its hands in a soft mockery of an applause. Stiles can smell sheer amusement coming off of it now. The peppery scent of it repulses him.

_**Stiles… be careful.** _

Stiles's fur bristles at the voice.

It's Derek.

 _ **I will**_ , he sends back, not sure if Derek will hear it. He turns to see Derek grimace in pain, but nod. Huh. Okay, weird. Telepathy. Before it hadn't worked, but now…

"I see we've gotten off-track," the vampire says, voice annoyed. Stiles instantly whips his head around in the vampire's direction, baring his own razor sharp teeth. "Now, that's better." It smirks.

Stiles only has the time to leap backward on his two hind legs as the vampire surges forward, hands clawing at the space where he'd just been. The vampire hisses, blue eyes almost luminous when they're up close.

"Nice avoidance technique," it chuckles, swiping a hand out again. Stiles dodges that one as well, ducking down and growling low in his throat. "Speedy. I like that," it jeers.

Stiles growls more fiercely, spittle flying from the intensity. He pounces on the vampire while it's too busy gloating, knocking it to the ground, raking his claws down its chest, digging them in. The vampire cries out, the scent of pain rolling off of it, salty and stale.

"Y-You  _mutt_ ," it bites out, stifling a whimper when Stiles digs his claws in harder.

Stiles doesn't know why, but at that moment he shifts again. He's holding down the vampire with his hands now, bare skin in ripe attacking distance.  _Fuck_.

"Stiles! What are you  _doing_? Shift back!" Derek yells, alarmed.

"I _can't_ ," Stiles grits out, teeth clenched. The vampire grins from where it's pinned underneath him and oh no, that's not a good sign.

"Can't shift back, eh?" it says in innocent curiosity. Stiles growls, the sound human-like and very,  _very_ unthreatening.

The vampire isn't fazed, of course, and before Stiles knows it the situation is turned and he's being flipped over onto his back, the vampire the one pinning  _him_ down.

"Well, well, well," it sing-songs, dancing its fingers down his chest. Stiles bucks up, trying to get it off of him, but he's naked and that movement just— _fuck_. "Oh ho," the vampire chuckles, pressing its hips down until Stiles gasps, biting his lip on a moan. "This is nice. A defenceless little wolf under my control."

"Get away from him!" Stiles hears Derek snarl, followed by a small whimper. He winces, knowing Derek just tried to get up and help him but couldn't.

"Why are you here?" he breathes, eyes thinning to slits as the vampire's bony hips press down again, grinding, friction he doesn't want nearly making his eyelids flutter.

The vampire doesn't answer straight away, fingers rubbing lightly over one of his nipples. Stiles flinches, hisses at the cold of the vampire's skin. It's like chilled ice.

"Why am I here?" it repeats in a mockery of his own question. "Well, let's say I want some…  _fun_ ," it chuckles, pinching the nipple under his fingers. Stiles groans softly, hips rising and lifting the vampire half off of him.

"Why?" Stiles grits, voice shallow. His cock is hard, leaking, and this is not something he wants. He wants… he wants—

"You want to come," the vampire drawls and  _what_   _the_   _fuck_.

"W-W-What?" He manages to speak, but it's choked and breathy. The vampire's grinning, lips twitching.

"You want to come, so I'm going to make you come," the vampire says lowly, starting to rock its hips, pinching and twisting his nipples, hard enough it stings and shoots pain throughout his chest.

"S-St—op," he gasps, moaning. It— _fuck_ —hurts, yet feels so good at the same time.

"You want me to stop? But you're so close. Why, and you're liking it. Don't lie," the vampire chides, rolling its hips faster.

No, no, no, no, no more. Anymore and he's—he's…

Stiles hiccups around a hitched cry, slamming his eyes shut so he doesn't see the manic grin on the vampire's face or the dark laughter and amusement in its eyes when he comes, shaking apart and panting.

"That's it, _lovely_ , so pretty when you come, wolf," the vampire croons, stroking fingers over his nipples softly, and Stiles sobs at how sensitive they are.

Stiles can only lie there, chest heaving, as the vampire stands up and glances behind its shoulder. "Seems like your puppy isn't that happy I gave you release," it taunts.

"No shit," Stiles husks, voice wrecked just like everything inside of him right now. Orgasms from a person you don't like are  _not_ supposed to take that much out of you.

"Why, maybe if I give him the same treatment he'll not feel so jealous?"

Stiles, immediately, gets all of his energy back at that statement. The wolf in him surges forward, not breaking free but giving him enough power to leap off the ground and onto his own two feet.

"You're not going to touch him," he warns, voice coming back slowly, not scratchy anymore but strong and threatening. Well, threatening enough as he can be whilst naked.

"Oh, really?" the vampire mocks, and its fangs glint in the sunlight again as it bares them. "And what are you doing to do? Stop me?"

Stiles doesn't even provide that question with an answer.

He just shifts and pounces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, cliffhangers are kinda my thing. *Sigh*. Sorry. One day I will stop. One day. As for the chapter, what do you think? Thoughts? I'd love to know!
> 
> Not sure when next chapter will be up. I went through my Word doc today and noticed that I had (omg, how could I mislead myself?), only completed 3 chapters instead of 4. So yeah, I'm actually still working on chapter 4. Sorry guys. I'll try and get that done asap, but I can't make any promises because the school term is coming to a close and I got assignments to finish and blah blah blah. Do not give up hope, though! I will fight my way through the assignments and try my very best to get the next chapter up soon (hopefully at least in the next 3-4 weeks).
> 
> (Also P.S. : Is it just me or has anyone else noticed how many clothes I've had Stiles destroy during the shift in this story?)


	4. recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles doesn't remember how it happens.

Stiles doesn't remember how it happens. The beginning of the fight starts with him lunging at the vampire with his mouth wide open, ready to latch his fangs into the creature's throat. He succeeds, but he also thinks the vampire manages to gets its arms around him. He's not sure. All he knows is that the vampire is out the window yet again like the fleeing bastard it is, and his ribs really hurt, pain splintering through them like they're cracked, or even worse,  _broken_.

_**Stiles! Stiles! Are you okay!? Answer me! STILES!** _

That's Derek's voice, Stiles knows. He's being talked to telepathically. He hasn't got the strength to reply though, only manages to whine pathetically and slump to the ground, shifting back to human, curling up in a ball with his eyes shut tight.

There's a lot of noise suddenly—a door banging open, feet thumping, voices shouting. That's all he hears before he slips into unconsciousness.

***

Stiles wakes up groggy, like he's been dosed with a whole assortment of high-pain medication. His head feels light, his mouth dry, and there's a dull ache settling against his chest. He realises he's lying on his side, head resting against a pillow, on the table in Deaton's veterinarian surgery.

"Crap," he croaks, trying to move. It jars something sharply inside of him and he cries out, stifling a bout of whimpers.

"Stiles," a voice breathes from beside him, then there's hand on his shoulder. "Don't move. You can't move, buddy, all right? Not yet."

It's Scott. Scott, whose voice is strained and slightly hoarse, like he's been crying. Scott, who when Stiles looks up, has red-rimmed eyes and tear-damp cheeks.

"S-Scott? W-What 'appened?" he whispers.

Scott swallows and opens his mouth, about to answer, but then the door to the back room is slamming open, Deaton and a fully healed Derek rushing in, Derek's eyes wild in—fright?

"Stiles," he chokes out, and Stiles realises that his eyes are brimming with tears.

"H-H—Hey, big guy," he murmurs, eyes slipping shut. He feels Scott's hand on his shoulder remove itself before another one's there, firmer. He flutters his eyelids open weakly to see Deaton sitting down in a chair next to him, Derek and Scott standing beside the veterinarian, both with worried (Scott) and terrified (Derek) expressions.

"Stiles, do you know why you're here?" Deaton asks calmly.

Stiles just breathes for a few seconds, trying to gain enough energy to speak, before opening his eyes and replying weakly, "'m dying?"

A strangled half-laugh half-sob breaks out. Stiles winces when he recognizes it as Derek's.

"No, you're indeed not dying, Stiles," Deaton replies, slight amusement in his tone, right before it drops and 'grave Deaton mode' activates. "But, I am sorry to say that you have suffered some quite serious rib damage."

Stiles gulps, coughs and hisses when it rattles the broken bones in his chest. "What—what you 'onna do, doc?" he asks, eyelids drooping. He's already tired again. Whatever Deaton's given him is some pretty strong stuff.

Deaton sighs, looking hesitant. "Because of your broken bones, your body isn't healing like it should be. I'm afraid I am going to have to shatter them so they can reform correctly."

There's growl, low and rough.

"You're going to have to shatter  _what_?" Derek snarls.

"I am going to need to shatter his rib bones, otherwise they will not heal properly and could cause further damage," Deaton replies coolly, unfazed by Derek's outburst.

"Further  _damage_?You're about to  _shatter his bones_!"

"Derek, calm down." Scott puts a hand on Derek's arm, trying to settle the werewolf's nerves. It doesn't look like it's working.

"Calm  _down_? How can you be  _calm_ right now? Scott, your best friend is about get his rib bones completely fucking  _shattered_! _"_ Derek roars, eyes flashing.

"Scott, I think it would be wise to escort Mr. Hale out of the room for this procedure. I can't have him here when he cannot remain composed, for the sake of Stiles's safety," Deaton warns.

Scott nods. "C'mon, Derek," he says, tugging at the werewolf's sleeve. Derek doesn't budge, just swallows and closes his eyes. When they open again they're hazel, no longer an icy blue.

"No." Derek draws a breath in shakily, whole body tensing. "I'm not—I  _can't_ ," he whines. "I can't let him go through this on his own. Please. Let me stay," he pleads, tears shining in his eyes.

Deaton reallocates his body a little in his seat, hunching over slightly, obviously weighing his options. After a few seconds, he hums. "Fair enough. You can stay, Derek, but I need you to remain calm. I cannot have you shifting in here while I am working on Stiles. It could jeopardise his health." Deaton tilts his head, a knowing twitch to his lips. "And I am sure that is something both of us do not want."

Derek's eyes widen. "No. Not at all," he says softly, bowing his head and releasing a shaky breath.

"Scott, I would like to ask you to please leave the room and wait outside. I am sorry, but I cannot permit more than two people in here at a time while I am performing a procedure such as this one," Deaton directs at Scott.

Scott shifts from one foot to the other nervously, unsure, but with Deaton's nod he leaves, looking back one more time to catch eyes with Derek before exiting the room.

"Derek, you may take a seat," Deaton says, standing up from his chair and letting Derek take his place. "Now, I need to go and get a few things. I'll be back in a moment."

Derek nods, watching as Deaton walks over to a set of cupboards at the far back of the room, taking off a jar of liquid and a needle, before walking back.

"All right, Derek, I need Stiles awake for this. So, if you wouldn't mind." Deaton waves a hand at Stiles who is asleep, smiling kindly.

Derek swallows and, gently, he brushes a thumb over Stiles's cheekbone. "Stiles, hey," he whispers. Stiles's eyelids flutter, nose twitching, but he doesn't wake. "Stiles, I need you to wake up for me, okay. Deaton's here to help you."

Stiles's eyes drift open and he blinks once, twice, before glancing over to Deaton who is holding a needle. Derek hears the moment his heart rate spikes.

"Hey, no, it's okay," he soothes. "It's for the pain. Right, Deaton?"

Deaton nods. "This will just relieve you of some of the pain while I proceed to…" He pauses, somewhat unsure to continue, twisting the jar that holds the clear liquid open, dipping the point of the needle in and extracting some into the tube. "Derek, hold his arm out for me please."

Stiles eyes widen as Derek carefully takes grip of his arm. "D-Derek," he whispers. "What's going on?"

Derek swallows. Stiles must have been so out of it he hadn't heard what they'd need to do for him to heal properly. "I—"

" _Derek_ ," Deaton says, tone sharp. "If you want me to help Stiles, I'm going to need your full cooperation."

Derek nods briskly, throat dry. "I—I understand. Just let me—"

The look Deaton gives him is both cautious and angry. Derek snaps his mouth shut, guiding Stiles's arm out gently, and when Stiles flails, eyes panicked, soothingly whispers, "You're okay, it's okay, Deaton's going to take good care of you."

***

The process was tormenting, to say the least.

After Deaton gave Stiles the anaesthetic he was out of it for a bit, but when it came down to the actual  _bone shattering_?

Derek shivers, pulling at the blankets covering his and Stiles's bodies, trying to expel the choked sobs and cries of agony that he'd had to listen to while Deaton shattered his mate's ribs.

They're lying in bed in the loft, Deaton having let Stiles leave with the order to rest and recover. Stiles hadn't been too keen on going back home so Derek offered him a place to stay for the night.

"Der? You still awake?"

Derek turns his head, meeting the sleepy amber eyes staring at him in the dark of the room. They'd been glazed over, partly during the bone breaking process, pain showing too clearly in them, and now Derek is just glad they're free of all that torment.

"Yeah," he murmurs, drawing Stiles in closer, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his nose into the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent that resides there.

"Well go to sleep," Stiles chuckles. "We gotta get up early tomorrow. Plan to kill this freakin' vamp for good."

Derek freezes, trying to ignore the ice he feels run through his veins. The vampire had done this to Stiles. Broke his ribs to a point that shattering them had been necessary for them to heal and reform properly.

"No," he whispers sharply, biting the words out. "You're not getting anywhere near that thing. Not if I can help it."

Stiles snorts. "Oh now, c'mon, Derek."

" _No_ ," Derek growls. "Stiles, what it  _did_ to you today?" His arms unconsciously curl tighter around his mate's body. "I don't want you getting hurt again. I  _won't_ let you."

Stiles sighs, body sagging against Derek. "Derek," he says calmly. "I'll be all right. It just… It got me when I wasn't looking, okay? I could have taken it, but I was more worried about you, and didn't exactly have my head in the game, so to speak."

Derek tenses. "So it's… it's my fault?" he chokes weakly.

" _No_!" Stiles's eyes widen in shock and anger. He threads his fingers through Derek's, squeezing firmly. "No, Derek. This wasn't  _any_ of your fault, okay? And I don't want you blaming yourself over it." His voice hardens. "Promise me you won't?"

Derek breathes quietly, not answering, the silence around them almost stifling. "I promise," Derek finally murmurs softly, closing his eyes and exhaling. "I promise."

Stiles settles back easily under the warm covers, folding his body up closer to Derek and kissing his mate gently on the lips, thumb tracing the curves of his palm. "Thank you."

***

The next morning sees Stiles lounging in bed, with no other choice in the matter because Derek had insisted he not get up unless it was absolutely necessary. ( _"Derek, I need to_  pee _, and I am not going to do it here._ _In fact,_ you _probably don't want me to pee here. This is your bed. So, up. Let me up. Now._  Now. _My bladder—oh shit—is not to be trusted,_ ever." _"Okay, okay. Just—bathroom!_ Go. _"_ )

Breakfast in bed was a delicacy, let Stiles say that. Fuck, Derek could  _cook_. Bacon and eggs had never tasted so good before today. ( _"Oh my_  God _, where have you been hiding, culinary genius Derek Hale?"_ _"Shut up, Stiles."_ )

But now, at nearly 3:00 p.m., it's become more than annoying. He doesn't want to stay in bed. He wants to  _do stuff_.

"Derek," he whines, kicking at the blankets that are pooled around his feet. "I want to do something. Let me up. Please."

"No."

" _Please_."

" _No_ , Stiles."

Stiles huffs, crossing his arms and pouting. "I don't like you no more. You're mean."

Derek barks out a laugh. "Is  _this_  where you act like a child?"

Stiles's pout twists into a scowl and he rolls over, facing away from Derek. "No… shut up, sourwolf."

Derek just continues laughing. Stiles can hear it even when Derek's left the room. When he hears Derek come back he's not laughing, and Stiles rolls back over to see the werewolf holding a… pack of colouring pencils and paper.

"What is that?" he asks petulantly, knowing where this is going and not at all happy.

Derek grins. "Something to keep you occupied." He places the paper and pencils on the bed near Stiles, patting the boy's head, quickly removing it when Stiles whips his head around, teeth bared. "Now, now no biting. Colour in your pictures and be a good boy," he teases.

"I  _really_ don't like you," Stiles remarks, but there's a smile twitching on his lips.

Derek smirks, leaning down to capture Stiles's mouth in a kiss, before trailing his lips up the boy's jaw, to his earlobe, nosing the shell delicately before whispering cheekily, "No. You love me."

And Stiles?

He can't agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it took me ages to get this out. I'm sorry! A family member has become seriously ill and it's a hard time for all of us right now, so I had to put off writing for a while. I also apologise for the short chapter, but I hope you all still like this. I can't make any promises when the next chapter will be up, so we'll have to play it ear by ear. Thank you for everyone's understanding :)


	5. family ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day Stiles is allowed out of bed. It's a miracle, really.

The next day Stiles is allowed out of bed. It's a miracle, really. A great big miracle in fact because Derek is the kind of (boyfriend?  _Wolf-_ friend? Wait, can even  _call_ Derek anything remotely romance-y?) that is an overbearing—but  _in a good way_ —lover. (Aaaaand there's the romance-y thing again. Lover? Hooo, God.)

"So I'm free?" Stiles finishes closing the last two buttons of his plaid shirt, glancing up quickly to look in the mirror as he tweaks the collar so it rests comfortably. " _Free_?"

"Yes," Derek sighs, lying on the bed with a book held up to his nose. It's a classic romance novel, something Stiles had been totally surprised at the werewolf picking up, let alone even taking a slight interest in the storyline, considering the bad memories that he most likely has from his past relationships.

"Like, free as in I'm the little baby bird leaving the nest for the first time and you're the protective mumma bird finally letting me go out into the big bad horrid world to fend for myself all by my lonesome?" he teases.

Stiles can see Derek's reflection in the mirror as he raises his eyes to glare unimpressively from over the cover of the book, eyebrows judging as ever. "Your terminology is the thing that's horrid," he snorts, gluing his eyes back down to the words on the page as soon as he's finished with the insult.

Stiles shrugs it off. "Not all of them are pretty. Though, mind you, I've had years of practice at terminology."

"Right," Derek says dismissively and when Stiles turns away from the mirror to actually look at him, he smiles.

The werewolf's hair is unkempt, mussed up from Stiles's hands running through it due to boredom all day yesterday. He's dressed in baggy grey sweatpants and a black Henley, Stiles's favourite one that delightfully snuggles the material across his pecs. Stiles feels overwhelmingly happy that he gets the chance to see Derek so loose and relaxed like this.

Stiles plops himself heavily down on the bed, hip knocking against Derek's leg causing the werewolf to grunt in annoyance, lifting and moving both of them to settle, splayed over the human's lap. "I'm right in guessing that you're gonna let me help with the vampire problem?"

"Wrong," Derek says absently as he flips the page, the crinkle of paper as blunt as his tone. Stiles's nose scrunches at the irony.

"C'mon, why not? I'm not as helpless as I used to be. Not only can I Google the bad guys, now I can kick the bad guys' butts too!"

Derek chuckles. "If that's the only reason you've got as to why I should let your reckless ass out of the apartment, you're going to have to get used to not leaving this room more often."

Stiles is silent for moment as he lets Derek's words sink in, but when it does—

" _Jerk_." He jabs the werewolf's shin with his elbow. "You're such a jerk!"

"A jerk who's trying to read. Some quiet would be nice, if you wouldn't mind."

"Some quiet would be nice," Stiles mocks in a high, whiny voice. When Derek doesn't react, he groans. "Why can't you just, I don't know,  _trust_ me for once?"

Derek sighs deeply, closing the book with a snap and placing it on the bedside table before making eye contact with Stiles. "I do trust you. If I remember, I  _did_ let you dump my body into a pool of 8 feet of water just so you could clumsily drop your phone the very same way."

"Oh my  _God_. Are you  _ever_ going to get over that?" Stiles buries his head in Derek's side, feeling it tremble as the werewolf laughs.

"Nope," Derek refuses. It's so childish Stiles can only scoff, running his nose along the ridge of Derek's hip bone when the Henley rides up.

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to one day, big guy." Derek makes a soft sound of agreement. "Hey, you want to head out and see Deaton with me? I need to ask him if he's got any information Quiletues."

"Sure," Derek agrees easily. "But you're going to want to move your head."

Stiles whines. "But you're so  _comfy_." He does so anyway, scooting off of the bed. "Oh, yeah, can we stop by over Scott's after? I have a feeling he'd want to hear whatever Deaton's got to say. Y'know, considering his best friend's life has just gotten a whole lot bigger.  _Literally_."

Derek groans as he sits up, cracking his neck. "Stiles, are  _you_ ever going to get over that?"

Stiles pouts. "I turn into a wolf the size of a  _monster_ truck, Derek. Also, way to use my words against me, by the way. You great big jerk."

"Whatever, Stiles. You're still bigger."

"Oh,  _c'mon_!Now  _that's_ not fair."

"Hey, you never know, I could have been talking about your—"

"Aaaaaaand nope. Don't  _even_."

***

"Okay. So, what you're saying is that  _no_ , you don't have anything on Quileutes?"

"That's correct."

Stiles groans, face pinched. "Is there anywhere I can get some?"

Deaton nods, eyes shifting to Derek. "I believe Hale here can give you a nice little talk about your kind. After all, his mother did have relatives from one of their tribes."

Derek makes a small, choked noise of confusion that shocks both Stiles and Deaton, though Derek's the one with the most shock written across his face. "She did?"

Deaton nods again. "She did. In fact, I'm quite surprised you didn't know."

Stiles turns to Derek, flabbergasted. "How the hell didn't you know? I thought you said you could  _smell_ it on us or something?"

Derek sighs. "I can, it's just… I didn't really see many of my mum's family other than Peter since he and his wife and kids lived with us."

Stiles notices the sad, faraway look in Derek's eyes as he talks about his family. He bites his lip. "Whoa. Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Derek shakes his head. "It's fine," he says. "I'm—I've had plenty of time to come to terms with it." He looks over to Deaton. "Are there any websites we could use that might help us learn more on the Quileute tribe?"

Deaton clicks his tongue. "I'm not entirely certain."

Stiles throws his hands up in frustration.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Derek huffs.

Deaton smiles. Stiles gulps. "Oh no.  _No_. That smile means no good. That's your evil, cryptic smile that you pull on us when you know something we don't that could get our asses into a lot trouble. Or, you know.  _Worse_. Like  _killed_."

Derek raises a curious/alarmed eyebrow over at Stiles while Deaton chortles a quiet, amused laugh.

"No need to worry, Mr. Stilinski. There is nothing cryptic today, not in the slightest. All I was going to suggest was that I could call in and see if Talia Hale's sister would be free to give you boys a tour of her home. And just maybe, if you're lucky, she might enlighten you on what you'd like to know."

"My mother's sister?" Derek says hesitantly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Deaton. I… I wouldn't feel all that… comfortable."

Deaton nods. "I can always ask her if she doesn't mind a dear friend of the Hales dropping by if Stiles so wishes to visit on his own. Though, I'm pretty sure Essie would like to see and get to know her nephew."

"Yeah, c'mon Der," Stiles says softly, nudging Derek's shoulder. "It'll be fun. You and me, the road, making discoveries and meeting long lost family."

Derek sucks in a slow, nervous breath. "I don't know…"

Deaton's lips twitch. "How about I give Essie a call while you two gentlemen reach an agreement? If you do and you decide you wouldn't like to visit, I can just ask Essie if she'd like to speak to Stiles over the phone. Or email. I hear that Essie has developed a fond spot for this generation's technological uses and, unlike many other elder 'weres, likes to surround herself with all means of technology."

Stiles chuckles. "Oh my God, Derek, she sounds awesome. I have to meet her! C'mon, go with me. We'll meet and greet, maybe chat over some tea and biscuits, and she can tell me about Quileutes. It'll be great! Pleeeeease?"

Derek doesn't say anything for a few seconds.

Stiles pouts. "D—"

"Fine."

"Really?" Stiles's eyes light up, enhancing the outer chocolate ring around the pupils. Derek may or may  _not_ fall into a trance. "Uh, Derek? Yo." Stiles snaps his fingers in front of the werewolf's face. "Earth to sourwolf."

Derek blinks. "Sorry. What?"

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, doc, me and wolf boy here are gonna go. Could you, um, call Essie and ask if we can come by sometime in the next few days?"

"I'll get right on that, Mr. Stilinski," Deaton approves, smiling. He pauses, eyes going tight and concerned. "Ah, yes. One more thing. I expect that you have informed the pack on what has occurred these past few days?"

"We—I haven't had the time." Derek cuts in the conversation, arm snaking around Stiles's waist on its own accord, pulling him close. "I was too busy taking care of Stiles and making sure he was okay. Scott informed the pack, though. He called me yesterday morning and let me know that he wanted to hold a meeting today."

"You and Scott arranged a meeting without me?"

"Don't sound so offended. You were asleep. I didn't want to wake that cute expression," Derek murmurs, teasing. Stiles makes a face.

"Oh my God. All I need to do is nearly die and sourwolf turns into sappywolf."

"Boys, shall I call now?" Deaton looks on, amused.

Stiles blushes. "Yep. Yep yep yep. You, uh, you do that and we'll just go." He pulls on Derek's arm. "Now. We'll go now."

Derek nods, throwing a quick, little befuddled bye to Deaton as he lets Stiles basically drag him out of the back room.

Deaton sighs as he watches them leave, shaking his head as he presses Essie's digits into his phone.

"Ah, young mates. Exactly like your mother and father," he mutters, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am so so sorry that this chapter took this long (5 months *cough* *cough*) for me to produce. The sick family member that I mentioned was my grandmother, and sadly she passed away. For quite a while writing this story just wasn't on my mind at all, as you can probably understand. Now, I feel more in depth with my emotions and I believe I can start updating again. 
> 
> I know this chapter is short and I apologise, but the writing process is slow these days (which is why I've only posted one-shots or updated small snippets of my headcanons). Next chapter I hope will be longer, and the others should start becoming more lengthy as well.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has continued to stick with me this far, it truly does mean a lot. I wish for you all to enjoy this chapter and the many more to come :)


	6. daddy's in the know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Derek and Stiles walk through his front door they're—well, Stiles—is knocked backward by the force of a certain werewolf best friend latching on to him and hugging him a bit too tightly with supernatural strength.

When Derek and Stiles walk through his front door they're—well, Stiles—is knocked backward by the force of a certain werewolf best friend latching on to him and hugging him a bit too tightly with supernatural strength.

" _Whoa_. Scott, hi!" he chokes. He's not exactly surprised Scott's worried. He'd been forced to stay cooped up in the loft for two whole days, which, really when you look at it, isn't that long. But when it comes to a Stiles-and-Scott friendship? It's like a million years long.

"You're okay, right? You're all healed? Man, I was freaking the fuck out!" Scott rushes out, squeezing even tighter.

"Yep, all healed. Though I might break my ribs again if you keep—ow—hugging me that hard— _shit_ , let go." Scott reels back in horror, bottom lip wobbling. "No! Don't. It's okay, I'm fine. My ribs are salvaged. You did good, bud."

"Be careful next time," Derek rumbles. Stiles is about to go to his best friend's rescue and say it's all right, that Scott's just an emotional hugger, but Derek apparently has more to say. "He's enough trouble when he's not injured and complaining that my bed pillows are too tatty."

Stiles huffs, waving his arms. "I said they were too  _threadbare_!"

Derek smirks. "And that's somehow better?"

"Synonyms. They make the world a better place," Stiles admits sincerely, nodding. Derek rolls his eyes.

Scott's just standing there, eyebrows furrowed as he wonders what's going on. Stiles notices and claps his hands together. "Right. Pack meeting! Where?" He looks around. "Where is everyone?"

Scott chews his lip. "See, when I said pack meeting I, maybe, also meant—"

" _Stiles_!"

Stiles glares daggers at Scott, jaw ticking. "Is that my dad in the kitchen?"

Scott takes a hesitant step back. Good choice, because Stiles is  _fuming_. "Yes. It is. But look, Stiles, he had to find out  _sometime_ —"

"I can't believe you," he mutters. Scott whines dejectedly. "And you!" He turns on Derek, the werewolf's eyes widening. "You are  _so_ —"

"Lucky." Stiles whips around to see his dad walking in, his 'cop face' on. Oh no. "Lucky he decided to tell me himself instead of me having to find out by interrogating the answers out of my own son."

Stiles gulps, anger simmering down. "Dad," he says nervously. "I can exp—"

John holds up a hand. "No need. Derek told me everything. He also mentioned that you two were emotionally attached?"

Oh, God. "Dad, no, we're not—"

John sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Stiles, I know. You don't have to lie to me. I'm not angry, so there's no reason to go and start defending yourself." He glances over to Derek and they share a soulful look. Stiles squints in confusion. What. "Derek here is a nice, trustful young man and I understand that he cares about you a whole lot."

"Thank you, sir," Derek says softly. Stiles blinks. Honestly, right now, he's unable to comprehend what's happening without wracking his brain and jotting down theories, most that involve a shapeshifter in place of his dad.

"As a father, I put my full faith in him that he will protect you and love you as much," he pauses, smiling sadly, "as much as I did your mother." Stiles exhales shakily as his dad continues. "Anyone who can prove me that, hell, they can move in with us for all I care. And no, that's not an invitation for you to move into Derek's loft yet, Stiles. Don't even be thinking about it," he quips before Stiles can open his mouth. Not that he can. He's speechless but everyone is waiting for him to say something.

"Say something, you're never this quiet," John says. "God forbade it," he murmurs.

Stiles chokes out a laugh. "I… I kind of don't know what to say, right now?" he breathes. "I mean, whenever I thought of telling you all this, I always saw you reacting differently. Like,  _way_ differently. Like grounding-me-for-the-rest-of-my-life-never-letting-me-out-of-the-house-even-for-bingo-when-I'm-ninety different."

Scott snorts. "Bingo?"

"Shut up, my mind works in mysterious ways," Stiles snaps.

"Boys," John cuts in. "As much as I'd love to hear the rant you two are about to be involved in, I'd rather get down to the bottom of all of this."

"I thought you did? Derek told you." Stiles frowns, turning to Derek. "You did tell him  _everything_ … right?"

Derek scratches the back of his head (damn it, that's  _Stiles's_ signature move, when has Derek started stealing it?) and shrugs. "I told him about werewolves and what happened after… what happened after Laura. I wanted you to be here for the rest."

"Great. Okay," Stiles says faintly. He  _knew_ he shouldn't have kept this from his dad. If he'd told him from the beginning, then this  _exact_ talk wouldn't be happening. He could have brought up the _yooo, Dad, I'm a Quileute werewolf and I can turn into a giant-ass wolf and, hey, did you know Mum, your wife, was what I am? Crazy, huh?_ conversation with no problem. No embarrassing moment. Like this one.

John smiles, amused. "Oh good. I can tell this is going to be entertaining…"

Stiles blanches. How is his dad so cool with this?

"Not as entertaining as you might think," he mutters sourly. His dad raises an eyebrow. He sighs weakly. "Ugh. C'mon, I'll tell you." Derek and Scott try to follow but he stops them with a _nah-uh!_ and a pointed glare. "Alone."

The pouting, miserable looks on their faces almost makes Stiles feel a little better.

 _Almost_.

***

As Stiles walks out of the kitchen—leaving his dad nursing an understandably much needed glass of scotch—his eyes are sore from crying yet his chest feels a little lighter and free from all of the lies he'd kept. He finds Derek and Scott waiting on the couch, bodies thrumming with anxious energy. Derek catches sight of him first and must immediately catch the salty, stale scent of his tears because no sooner has he taken another step he's being nursed into a hug he really, really didn't think he needed.

Derek doesn't need to say anything, only has to feel the tense, corded muscles in Stiles's shoulder blades to know that silent comfort is all the boy requires. That and a gentle kiss to his collarbone.

They leave the house a few minutes later, Scott promising to let the pack know a full-attendance pack meeting will be held the next day. Stiles hugs his dad goodbye, apologising for everything.

"No need, I know you did what you thought was best," John murmurs. Stiles breathes out in relief, squeezing his dad tighter. "You're a good kid, Stiles. Remember that." He pulls back to smile earnestly, ruffling Stiles's hair.

"I will," Stiles says quietly.

John watches as Stiles and Derek walk out. Derek mouths a thank you and he smiles softly, nodding.

Derek Hale really is the right one for his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to update quickly and wow, look at that, it's been 2 months again. I'm so, so, so sorry. My ideas for this story dispersed in many directions and I didn't have the guts to continue writing in case I'd give a shitty chapter. But I got myself on the right track and here we are. I know this was short but it is what it is. I'm also happy to say that I've started chapter 7. Definitely stay tuned for more. I hope next update doesn't take as long as this one and the last. If it does, just know that I will finish this story no matter how long it takes.


	7. pack meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun is shining through the curtains and Stiles, no matter how many times Derek pokes him, stays asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short again, I know. 
> 
> (Sorryhopeyouenjoykbye.)

The sun is shining through the curtains and Stiles, no matter how many times Derek pokes him, stays asleep.

"Stiles."

"…"

"Stiles."

"…"

" _Stiles_. Wake up."

"Mmmmm. Der,  _nooo_ , go away."

Derek rolls his eyes. "You're awake. Good. Now get up."

Stiles doesn't move, just snuffles in annoyance and squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

"I  _will_ pick you up and throw you out of this bed," Derek warns, though his voice is more taunting than threatening.

"Try it, I dare you," Stiles mumbles back before rolling over and tucking his knees up to his chest.

"Don't make me do it," Derek teases. "You know I will."

"Will not. Now shush and let me sleep. I'm tired," Stiles groans.

"Too bad."

"Derek, wait, what are you—"

Stiles doesn't get to finish, squealing out a breathless laugh as Derek pounces on him. "Not fair," he croaks. "You have werewolf strength."

"Apparently, now, so do you," Derek counters.

"Hm, yeah, all right," Stiles concedes, sighing. He makes to sit up, pushing Derek off of him. Well,  _tries_. "Oh, so, what, you're not letting me get up now? Is that what's happening?"

Derek smirks and  _damn_ , it's the one with predatory grace and secret, mischievous intentions.

They don't leave the bed for another two hours.

***

"What took you guys so—" Scott stops, staring at Stiles's happy, blissful smile, his nostrils flaring. He grimaces. "Oh." He turns to Derek, shivering a little when he sees the same—though a little more discrete—look on the other wolf's face. "Ew."

"Sorry, buddy," Stiles sighs contentedly, not looking apologetic in the slightest. "But we had some very sloppy, lingering morning kisses follow by a sweaty, fulfilling session of s—"

"Finish that, I'll spew on you," Scott groans weakly, face slowly going pale.

"Sex, Scott. Glorious, amazing, slip 'n slidin' sex," Stiles purrs, grinning when Scott pinches his eyes in horror and walks back inside.

"You didn't have to lie to him just to scare him," Derek whispers.

"But it was worth it, right?" Stiles laughs.

"Yeah," Derek agrees, rolling his eyes. "As worth it as it was to see Scott nearly puke, the lack of his ability to tell that you were lying was appalling."

"Hey." He elbows Derek's side gently. "He's still got some work to do. I mean, sure, he's not all Derek Hale-esque in the 'liar, liar, pants on fire' game, but he can still kick my ass in Call of Duty. And that? Did never happen before he became awesome Alpha McCall."

"You say it like beating you in Call of Duty is hard," Derek teases.

"You actually  _know_ what that is?" Stiles gasps.

Derek just looks unimpressed. "Of course I do. I _was_ a teenager once, you know."

Stiles flails. "But they weren't out then! You would never have played that!"

"No," Derek says wearily. "But I did play some classic first person shooter games. Also, Laura bought the Black Ops one when we lived in New York and she would always make me play it with her."

"You've played Black Ops!?"

"Stilinski, get inside! You can talk geeky to your boyfriend later," Aiden hisses, poking his head out.

Stiles is about to mouth off at him but Derek covers his mouth with a hand.

"Black Ops isn't geeky and neither is Stiles. Also, we're mates. Not ' _boyfriends_ '."

Stiles's eyes widen. Wow. Derek being technical about titles while defending Stiles's honour was  _hot_.

"Whatever, Hale. Just get in here," Aiden snarks before leaving. Stiles politely gives him the stink-eye.

"Can I trust myself to uncover your mouth?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow at Stiles's innocent nod as he does.

"If you promise to fill it with something when we get out of here," Stiles says cheekily.

Derek huffs. "Nope. I can't."

Stiles bumps sides with him. "No to trusting yourself or no to fill—"

"To both," Derek says, pushing him forward and into the house, closing the door behind them as he steers the boy into the living room where the pack is sitting. They both sit down on the chair that was saved for them, Stiles making himself comfortable on his lap, moving his butt from side to side  ~~almost~~  deliberately. He breathes in, regrets it as soon as he smells Stiles's scent, the strong musk of arousal kicking him right in the face. "Stop it," he mutters as Scott starts talking, pinching Stiles's hip.

"Not until you make that promise," Stiles quips back smartly, grinding his ass around in slow, teasing circles. "I can do this all day."

"Please don't," Aiden snaps. The pack is all oblivious until he speaks, heads turning in confusion.

"What's going on?" Allison asks.

"The oldest trick in the book, that's what," Danny chuckles. Lydia and Ethan smirk in understanding while Allison, Scott and Isaac all have uncanny looks of _um, non-compute?_

"Leave it in the bedroom, boys," Lydia says primly, lips curling.

"Not until Derek here makes me a proooooomise," Stiles whines. Everyone groans, Derek more painfully as his ever-present boner is once again given attention it  _really_ doesn't need right now.

"I'll hurry up the meeting, okay, whatever, just don't melt into a puddle of arousal on my good chair," Scott begs.

"I sometimes sleep on that," Isaac adds, face pale in terror.

"But most times you're sleeping in Scott's bed?" Stiles hints, giggling like a child. Derek can't  _even_.

Isaac blushes, cheeks heating. Allison does the same.

"Whoa-ho! That's incredible," Stiles gasps. "Scott, buddy, when were you going to tell me you were doing the one-two-three with those two?"

Scott's eyes are wide. He looks ready to run out of the room and have an attack of some sorts. "It's—that's—"

"True," Lydia buts in helpfully, shrugging innocently when Allison turns to her in shock horror. "Sorry, honey, but it's as plain as that shirt Stiles is wearing."

" _Hey_!"

"Can we please talk about something else?" Scott utters out weakly.

"Yes," Isaac and Allison both say in unison. That settles it. (And Derek's boner which has finally, _finally_ decided to keep itself in his pants.)

"And let's not direct the subject back to  _it_ again," Derek pointedly says, eyeing Stiles and hoping everyone gets his meaning. His dick won't survive if they don't.

"All right," Scott continues, managing to get back on track to what he was talking about. "Well, as you know, Stiles is not human." The pack nods.

"Old news, blah. Abominable snowman, blah, blah," Stiles mutters. Derek pinches him, making him jump.

"And the vampire is supposedly here because of something to do with that. Now, we know that the vampire is alone. It has no backup. But, no matter that, we still have to be prepared. Just recently, Stiles and Derek were attacked and Stiles ended up getting hurt."

"What!?" Allison gasps. "When? Why didn't we know?"

"Didn't want to worry ya, huntress." Stiles smiles. "Plus, I'm fine now. No biggie. Just some rib damage and temporary sinus pain. Heads up on that, by the way. All you werewolves might find your nostrils on fire if that bastard's around."

"On fire?" Isaac chokes.

"Yep. Don't know how the guy did it, but let me tell you, it's  _not_ fun." Stiles feels Derek's arms tighten around him and he leans back into the embrace. "Anyway. Scott, continue." He waves his hand.

"Right." Scott coughs, looking a little bit nauseous of the news. "So, this thing's not going to be easy to kill. We might need some help. Some… military power."

The pack all nod in realisation when they understand what Scott's trying to say.

"We need my dad," Allison sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introduced Allison/Isaac/Scott. Yay! (Thank you to that reviewer that one time a while ago that gave me the idea. Heheh.)


	8. big guns & old dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris Argent sips on his glass of scotch slowly, listening to his daughter as she explains what has happened. A vampire. He hasn't heard of a vampire coming this far, at least not for a very long time. His father's father had dealt with a few vampires many, many years ago but ever since then vampires have not stepped foot in Beacon Hills. Until now, it seems.

Chris Argent sips on his glass of scotch slowly, listening to his daughter as she explains what has happened. A vampire. He hasn't heard of a vampire coming this far, at least not for a very long time. His father's father had dealt with a few vampires many, many years ago but ever since then vampires have not stepped foot in Beacon Hills. Until now, it seems.

"Stiles and Derek got hurt, Dad. It's getting serious. We need help," Allison says, brown eyes pleading. Scott takes her hand in his, squeezing it, and the Lahey kid rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. Chris… Chris will have a great deal of time to get to the bottom of what's happening there, but right now there are more important and pressing issues to deal with.

Like a vampire that apparently has wounded a werewolf—wait, no,  _two_ werewolves—because now Stilinski is one too. A Quileute. Jeez, he hasn't heard that name in years either.

"What do you need?" he asks, placing his glass of scotch down on the table, folding his hands in his lap. Allison looks to Scott, who after a few seconds, nods. She turns back to him and takes a deep breath before speaking.

"We need guns. A lot of them," she says, cautiously but still determined. That's his girl, not wanting to step out of line but willing to for her friends. Her  _pack_. (That's something he's also going to need to get his head wrapped around.)

"I can do that," he says easily, then more firmly. " _But_ , I need to make sure you all know how to handle them. Allison, you can, I know that. The rest of you will need to be trained."

"I'll do it," Allison volunteers.

"Me too," Stiles blurts out, hand up. Everyone turns to him, surprised. He scratches the back of his head, abashed. "I, uh. Dad taught me when I was younger. Took me to the shooting range. He got some of his deputies to give me lessons too."

"Do you think you know how to handle an AK-47 assault rifle," Chris says, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles swallows loudly. "That's—that's, uh. Wow, um, no? I haven't really…"

Chris barks out a laugh. "I'll give you a less powerful one. Don't want you to blow your own head off."

"I can see if my dad has some guns he can give us, too," Stiles says. Chris shakes his head.

"I've got everything you'll need here. The police department don't have the ones I do and, trust me, you'll need those." Chris stands up, picking up his glass of scotch. "Follow me, I'll show you my collection."

"He has a—" Stiles whispers to Allison. Allison bites her lip. "How many guns does he  _have_?"

"You're about to find out," she muses, smirking.

***

"Remind me to never mess with your dad," Stiles says shakily, eyeing all the guns.

"Noted," Allison giggles. She picks up a rifle, turning it over in her hands. "I'm using this one," she says, smiling. "Might be able to blow the head off of it if I get a good enough shot."

"Good luck with that," Aiden laughs. Lydia glares at him. "What? This vampire apparently has enough power to kill a werewolf."

"If you haven't noticed, guns can kill a werewolf," Allison shoots back smartly. "It'll do the same to a vampire."

Aiden holds his hands up in mock defeat, turning away and walking out. Lydia gives an apologetic glance to Allison before following him out of the room.

"Still can't believe she dates him," Stiles mutters.

"Heard that!" Aiden shouts.

Stiles winces. "Damn werewolves." Derek snorts. "No offence."

"None taken," Derek chuckles. "Shouldn't you also be taking offence?"

Stiles groans. "Shut up, I forgot for a second."

"Sillywolf," Derek murmurs, wrapping his arms around Stiles's waist and nibbling at his earlobe.

"Mmm, shuddup," he hums.

"Never. I don't care about other people telling me what to do because sourwolves do what they want," Derek jokes.

Stiles chokes on a laugh. "Cute, Der. Exceptionally cute. Now stop it or I'm going to—"

"No sex near my guns," Chris booms out. His voice echoes loudly in the room and startles no one, no one but Stiles.

"Yeesh!" Stiles jumps. "Know how to make a guy scream don't ya, Argent."

"So can I, Stiles," Derek whispers, smirking toothily.

"You have to stop," Stiles hisses, jabbing a finger in the man's sternum.

"Yes," Chris agrees wearily. "Before I have the urge to shoot you."

"Don't take it literally, he's joking," Allison buts in cheerily. Derek glares.

"Okay, so!" Stiles claps his hands. "Which gun can I have?"

Everyone turns to him warily.

Chris sighs. "Come this way, Stiles."

Stiles grins, fist pumping the air as he follows Argent to where he keeps more of his guns at the back. When he's gone, Derek turns to Allison. "I know he said he can handle a gun, but should I still be worried?"

Scott nods jerkily. "Definitely."

Derek groans.

Allison smiles sweetly. "At least Dad didn't give him the AK-47," she points out helpfully.

"Don't remind me," Derek says flatly.

Stiles comes back with a gun in hand, his scent a rich pine smell of excitement. Derek fears for the worst.

"What type of gun is that, Chris?" Scott dares to ask, because Derek would rather not ask what kind of weapon his spastic, hyper boyfriend gets to wield.

"A—"

Allison must agree with Derek because she cuts her father off. "Doesn't matter. It works?"

Chris nods. "Packs hell of a punch, honey."

Allison smiles. "That's all we need to know." She walks up to Stiles and takes the gun out of his hands. He whines and makes grabby hands. "Ah, ah. You get this back only when we fight the vampire."

"You're no fun." Stiles pouts, skulking over to Derek and resting his head on his shoulder.

"I am, though," Derek purrs, trying to cheer his mate up.

"Oi! I said stop it!"

It works.

***

"Home sweeeeeet home," Stiles sing-songs, face-planting on his bed. His dad looks on in amusement.

"Big day?"

"Big  _guns_ , you mean," Stiles says, sitting up. "Chris has a whole collection of rifles. Did you know that?"

John nods. "I did." His face pales. "He didn't give you one, did he?"

Stiles shakes his head, sighing sadly. "Nope. Well, yeah, but I don't get to have it until we battle that stupid bloodsucking creep."

"Good. I like my head where it is," John chuckles. Stiles makes an affronted noise.

" _Excuse_ _me_!"

John backs out of the room slowly. "I'm going to work. Be good. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Always do," Stiles quips cheekily.

John huffs a laugh before closing the door. "Love ya, kid. See you tomorrow."

"Bye Dad, love you too," Stiles replies, closing his eyes and feigning sleep as he hears his bedroom door close and his father's footsteps go down the steps. When the door slams shut from downstairs, he grins, rushing over to the window. "All clear."

Derek climbs through the window, dusting off his jeans. "I still don't know why I have to keep coming in through the window. Your dad knows about us now," he huffs.

"Well, as the saying goes, you can't teach an old dog new tricks," Stiles teases.

Derek growls playfully, tackling the boy down onto the mattress. "That's not what I heard," he husks, nosing down Stiles's collarbone.

"W-What have you heard?" Stiles gasps.

Derek smirks, hands undoing Stiles's jeans. "With hours of practice, you can teach an old dog anything."

"Fuck.  _Yes_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter was meant to be funny. It really was.


	9. kill of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay, so I've seen many movies where this—well, not exactly this, but sorta like this—happens but, uh, is this the part where we run for our lives?"

"Okay, so I've seen many movies where this—well, not exactly  _this_ , but sorta like this—happens but, uh, is this the part where we run for our lives?"

Allison rolls her eyes, reloading her gun. "Stiles,  _not_  the time!"

Stiles shrugs. She's right. Also, he is completely and utterly  _not_  thinking about the dead body of the vampire on the ground, or the sound of stampeding footsteps coming their way. Because, yeah, the vampire had friends. Of  _course_ it did. And what little luck did they have to  _just_ find out about that now.

"Stiles," Derek growls, grabbing his forearm. "Get behind me and stay there."

"Derek,  _seriously_? I can take care of myself. I'm a werewolf now, remember!" He wrestles his arm out of the grip, sighing at the glint of rage in Derek's eyes. "C'mon, Der. Trust me to keep safe?" He lowers his lip in a pout. It usually works. Not this time.

"If you don't get behind me  _right_ now, Stiles, I swear to—"

"Derek, Stiles, watch out!" Lydia shrieks.

Stiles whips around just in time to see the vampire (that is meant to be  _dead_ , thank you very much) lunging straight for them. He only has the time to push Derek away from him before the vampire is on him, wrestling him to the ground.

"STILES!"

Derek's shouting but Stiles can't understand what it is. The vampire has him pinned, grinning wide, arms squeezing him around the ribs. He knows what the vampire's trying to do.

"Not this time, buddy," he grits out, kicking it hard in the stomach. It doesn't do much and he's about to get a neck full of fangs, when Lydia screams.

The vampire covers its ears, screwing its face up in agony.

It gives him enough time to shift and kick the vampire away, towering over it. Lydia's scream stops. The vampire's eyes open and it moves its hands away from its ears, eyes only narrowing when it sees him.

"You filthy mu—"

It doesn't get to finish.

Stiles sinks his teeth in its throat, ripping through its neck and watching as the head falls off of the body, rolling to the ground.

It's stone.

"I thought we could only kill them with guns," Ethan says, taking a step back with wide eyes and furrowed brows.

Stiles quickly shifts back, completely aware that his naked butt, dangly bits and magically formed twelve-pack (kidding, it's more like six) is there for everyone to see. "Okay, uh, new plan! Allison, Danny, you start shooting only! Lydia, scream! Distract them! Isaac, claw and bite away! Same to all the other werewolves!" he shouts.

"Um." Allison, even given the situation, manages to giggle. "Stiles…"

"Yes, yes, I know. My pale, scrawny ass is bare for everyone to see. Not important! We've got these fuckers coming to kill us, okay? So, load your weapons!"

"Not scrawny," is what he hears Isaac mutter in a choked voice. Lydia hmm's an agreement but she's standing in front of him, not behind… Oh, damn it.

"Guys, vampires are here!" Scott yells. This diverts everyone's attention away from his naked body (hallelujah for that) and to the swarm of vampires coming into the clearing, charging at them.

"You'd think they'd never seen me naked before," Stiles mutters to Derek, sidling up to him.

"They haven't," Derek deadpans.

Stiles coughs, nods. "Right. Um. So… I'm going to shift now and kick ass. You in?" He flutters his eyelashes, looking up to meet Derek's unimpressed glare. "Okay. Got it. Let's kill some vampires, whoo!"

"Stiles, not the time!" Aiden snarls, bashing two vampire's heads together. Huh. Nice.

"Duty calls, honey!" He smacks a kiss to Derek's lips, shifting and bounding off into the fray of vampires, leaving Derek rolling his eyes, a silly smile on his lips.

***

The ground is littered in vampire body parts. The last three vampires alive are standing there, among their dismembered pals, their fangs bared.

"Give up. You're losing this battle,  _suckers_ ," Aiden growls, smirking.

"We will not rest until we find the one who savagely ripped apart our leader," one of them—a girl with frizzy black hair pulled tight into a bun atop her head—snarls.

"Uh." Stiles raises a hand. "Ooops. Guilty."

"And we want his murderer dead at our feet," a vampire with beady black eyes spits venomously.

"Oh." He lowers his hand. "Yeah. No. Not guilty. Kidding! Kidding! The murderer went that way!" He points over his shoulder. "Better run, though. I hear the guy's  _fast_."

The vampires all snarl lowly, one of them attacking. Isaac moves with it, the vampire too intent on Stiles to notice, and is beheaded with a long sweep of Isaac's claws.

"Larry!" the girl vampire cries, howling in anguish and rage.

"Larry?" Stiles elbows Scott, scoffing. "Dude, a vampire named  _Larry_."

The girl screams, launching herself in the air toward them. This time it's Allison, shooting a bullet right into the vampire's neck. She goes down, head blow apart by the force, body crumbling with it.

"Carrie!" the last vampire bellows.

Stiles blinks. "Okay,  _wow_. Larry and Carrie. What's yours? Oh, I bet it's Harry, isn't it?" He snorts in laughter.

The vampire roars, a drawn-out war cry type thing. It leaps forward.

And nothing is able to stop it.

Allison shoots and so does Danny. They both miss.

Isaac dives for it. Misses.

Aiden tries to stab it with his claws. Misses.

Ethan snaps at it, teeth elongated. Misses.

Lydia screams but the vampire, after hearing it so many times in battle, is immune to its effect.

Scott and Derek both try to fend it off as it stalks after Stiles.

A punch from Scott lands across its jaw, but the vampire flings Scott in the air and sends him crashing into a tree. Derek retaliates, swiping at it in relentless succession, but it just keeps dodging before grabbing Derek by the arm and throwing him in the same direction as he did with Scott, watching both of them tumbling to the ground with a sly grin.

"Hey, asshole!"

The vampire growls, eyes wide and enraged as it turns its head to Stiles.

"Good. You heard me," he snarks.

"I'm going to enjoy breaking you," the vampire barks, eyes glinting. "You may have killed my brother and my sister, but you won't kill me."

"Oh really, Harry? We'll see," he chuckles, shifting into wolf form and pouncing.

The vampire meets him halfway, both of them crashing to the ground. For a second, the vampire has him pinned, snapping at his throat, and then it rears back with a yelp, a pair of jaws snagged into its side.

There's a black wolf, large and sleek, ripping into the vampire's stomach.

The wolf looks up, eyes catching his. Familiar, shockingly familiar icy blue eyes.

_**Derek?** _

It's in that moment, when the wolf is distracted staring at him, that the vampire chooses to wrap its hands around the wolf's neck and  _twist_.

A loud, hollow crushing sound echoes throughout the clearing.

The wolf lets out a soft, weak huff (too achingly familiar to a last breath) pupils dilating slightly, before its eyes slowly roll back into its head, jaws going slack around the vampire's middle as it slumps forward, limply falling on top of the vampire.

Stiles's heart stops.

_**DEREK!** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write fight scenes. I can't update on time. I can't not leave a chapter on a cliffhanger. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME.


	10. saving grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles shifts with an agonised sob, scrambles over to Derek with hands shaking furiously as he lifts the wolf up and onto his lap. It's easy, too easy, and Derek is limp and lifeless, head flopping to the side and paws hanging over Stiles's knees.

Stiles shifts with an agonised sob, scrambles over to Derek with hands shaking furiously as he lifts the wolf up and onto his lap. It's easy,  _too_ easy, and Derek is limp and lifeless, head flopping to the side and paws hanging over Stiles's knees.

"No, no, you're not dead. C'mon, Der," he mutters, voice trembling as he cradles the wolf's face in his hands. "Derek, please. You're not dead. Wake up." He slaps the wolf's cheek, waiting for a reaction, only to whimper when there is none.

"Stiles, he's gone," Lydia says timidly, tears running down her face.

"No! He's not, he can't be Lyds. He—he can't leave me!" Stiles cries, eyes stinging with tears. "I won't let him," he rasps, voice hardening as he places his palms gently over the wolf's heart.

"Stiles, no. You can't," Allison chokes as her and the rest of the pack run over. "You could die too."

Stiles shuts her out, ignoring everyone around him telling him to stop. He needs to focus on healing Derek.

***

_"You need to breathe if you want to do this correctly. Focus. Focus on Derek and healing him."_

_Stiles's hands are steady as he rests them on Derek's arm, where the bone has broken through the skin. He closes his eyes, fingers twitching as he tries to will the torn flesh to stitch up. It's a small pull inside of him at first, and then it morphs into a strong, straining pulse of sensation that coils in his gut and sings through the blood in his veins._

_"Yes, that's it. Now, let it out. Use it," Essie says calmly._

_Stiles obeys, breath hissing quietly between his teeth as he centres in on the sensation pooling inside of him. It's like little zaps coursing through him, and he tries willing them to leave his body, pushing them further and further until he feels the moment the energy is released._

_"Good! That's perfect. Open your eyes. See. See what you have done, my sweet."_

_Stiles opens his eyes, staring down at Derek's arm in amazement. The bone is back in place and the skin is all melded back together. He grins. "Yes, Der, I did it!" Derek smiles, ruffling Stiles's hair. "Heeeey. Watch the hair, buddy."_

_Essie laughs light-heartedly for a second, but then frowns. "Oh, dear. Yes. I almost forgot to tell you something that is very important." She sighs, frown hardening. "Depending on the extent of your mate's injury, is how much energy it will take to heal it. If you try to heal an injury that is severe, it may impact on your own health. Be wise how much energy you use."_

_Stiles swallows, feeling Derek's hand in his hair clenching tightly. "What happens if I use too much?"_

_Essie's eyes soften around the edges. "The end results are usually quite fatal. I have heard that a tribe's leader managed to heal her husband from near death but her weakened body did not survive the energy transfer."_

***

Stiles's whole body feels numb, energy draining away little by little as he pushes it into Derek's heart, willing it to start beating again.

"Stiles, stop!" Allison yells, voice wavering as she sobs.

Stiles doesn't stop, just closes his eyes and breathes in, letting it out shakily as he pushes the last of his energy into Derek. It takes a few seconds, and Stiles sways dangerously close to collapsing when the wolf wakes up with a startled yip, searing blue eyes glowing bright. Stiles smiles, eyelids drooping as he feels himself fall sideways.

Strong arms catch him as he does, and he stares up to meet Derek's tear-shined hazel eyes. "Hey, sourwolf," he murmurs, reaching up and cradling the wolf's jaw. "Welcome back."

His sense of hearing is fading fast and his vision is blurring around the edges but he still hears the hollow, pained call of his name before he slips into the awaiting darkness.

***

Derek's throat closes up around the broken syllables of Stiles's name as the young man in his arms shudders once, then goes deathly still. He grabs Stiles's hand as it starts slipping from his jaw, keeping it there as it goes limp in his hold.

Behind him, Allison lets out a soft, quaking _no_. Scott crumples to the ground with a horrendous cry of despair. Isaac's eyes well up with tears. Ethan hugs Danny as Danny shakes in his arms. Aiden puts a hand on Lydia's shoulder as her mouth opens and… nothing comes out.

She's not screaming, which must mean…

"Mieczyslaw…"

***

_Stiles is floating. At least, that's what it feels like._

_"Mieczyslaw…"_

_The voice makes him shiver. It's exactly how she sounded the day she died._

_"MUM!?" he yells. Everything around him is white and misty. He can't see her, but he can hear her voice._

***

"Mieczyslaw!" Derek chokes. He brushes his hand through the boy's hair, fingers trembling as they smooth back the slick, grimy strands that are plastered to too pale skin. "Please… Stiles…"

***

_"Mieczyslaw! Please… Stiles…"_

_"I can't! Mum, I can't—I can't see you!"  Stiles screams in frustration, tugging at his hair. "Mum, where are you!? MUM!"_

***

"Derek, he's…"

"He's not dead!" Derek snarls, stroking the boy's forehead. "You're not gone. I can't… I can't live without you. Mieczyslaw, come back. Please. I need you here," he sobs.

"Derek, I know it hurts. I know. But… but he's dead. He's… gone…" Allison whispers sadly.

Derek shakes his head, leaning down and putting his lips to Stiles's left cheek, kissing it gently. "Stiles, I love you. Please… come back to me, my mate."

***

_"Stiles, I love you. Please… come back to me, my mate."_

_Stiles freezes, eyes widening as the voice changes. It's not his mum… it's…_

_"D-Derek?"_

***

"I love you… You can't leave me! Come back, Stiles… Please, please, come back to me…" Derek closes his eyes against the ache in his chest. Stiles's limp hand is still pressed to his jaw. He chokes on breaths quietly, sobs stuck in his throat… when he hears that voice, and the hand that is pressed to his jaw starts rubbing affectionately.

"Hey there, sourwolf."

***

Stiles opens his eyes to see the pack all staring at him with wide, teary eyes. Derek's face is cupped in the palm of his hand, the wolf's lips pressed to his cheek as tears run down his face.

He rubs the wolf's jaw with his fingertips, small smile stretching his lips. "Hey there, sourwolf," he murmurs.

Derek jolts like he's been struck by lightning. When their eyes meet and Stiles sees the wild, afraid look in the wolf's eyes, he chuckles.

"Stiles… I… I thought I'd… thought I'd lost you…" Derek says, voice wavering.

"But you didn't," Stiles points out firmly, eyes sincere. "I nearly lost you too, Der. It was…" He chokes out a harsh, croaked laugh. "It was the worst moment of my entire life."

"Same here." Derek shakes his head, eyes clenched shut. "You just… Your hand… One moment it was…" He touches his jaw, wincing when his fingers meet Stiles's hand. "And the next it was slipping and I just…"

"Hey," Stiles soothes. "It's okay. I'm here, Der. I'm here."

Derek opens his eyes and smiles. "Yes," he says, bringing his lips down onto Stiles, looking right into bright, sparkling,  _alive_  cinnamon eyes. "You are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was late again. I'M SO SORRY. Buuuuuuut. Porn next chapter so look forward to that? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> So, okay, I started this story in late November last year. I'm still not finished, but I have four out of six chapters completed already. I decided to post this early because, honestly? I could not help myself hehe ^-^
> 
> Chapters should be added every 1/2 weeks, mainly due to the fact that I don't know how long it's going to take me to finish the last two chapters. (School work and stuff. Bleuch.)
> 
> Whelp, I hope you liked this one. Next chapter should be up either next week or the week after. 'Til then, kudos, comment, bookmark or whatever feels right to you :)


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